Meet Me In the Dark
by RhododendronPonticum
Summary: There are certain things a guy shouldn't do in a religion-steeped small town, and falling in love with the preacher's son is pretty much at the top of the list. Dean/Castiel AU
1. Chapter 1

**Meet Me In the Dark (and Never Let Me Go)**

Author's Notes

Title is from the Melissa Etheridge song.

I do not own Supernatural or any of it's characters.

I have done a bunch of research into the proper denomination and terminology of the religion I've used in this fic, and for the most part it's pretty non-specific (I don't want to offend anyone) but if I've written something wrong or done something inconsiderate, please let me know and I'll fix it! I am in no way trying to insinuate that all religions are hateful towards LGBT people, nor am I saying that all people who follow religion are like this. I know many wonderful religious people who accept and love everyone, but for the purposes of this fanfiction, I am showing the side of religion that does not approve of the LGBT lifestyle.

This will be a multichaptered fic, and I will update as frequently as possible!

This fic is dedicated to and written for the wonderful improvcrazed, because she's the awesomest person I know and she deserves all of the good things in the world. And although life sometimes can't deliver on that, there's always fanfiction to make the days go by a little easier! I hope it can do that for some of you. Thanks for reading!

**Chapter One**

A brilliant, blinding light fills Dean's field of vision, colouring the backs of his eyelids bright orange. He throws a forearm over his eyes and tries to fend off the inevitable fatigue that hits each time he wakes up. Up late keeping company with the thoughts that plague his mind, it's usually as if he's never slept at all. He engages his weary muscles, touches his feet to the floor, and begins his morning routine.

_Sam_, he thinks. _I'm thankful for Sam._

_I'm thankful for my job._

_I'm thankful for my car. _

_I'm thankful for this house and all its stupid fucking windows. _

Cringing, he forces his eyes open to face the full force of the morning sunlight streaming in.

_I'm thankful. This is good for us. Sam has a home and I haven't fucked it up yet. I haven't taken off. I'm gonna get through another day in this godforsaken town. _

His mind clouds with sleep again, and his body begins to yearn for the feeling of warm sheets tangling through his bare legs.

_Nope. Get up._

He pushes himself to standing, and inhales deeply the smell of fresh, open air.

_Just make it through another day._

He dutifully supervises Sam as he brushes his teeth, scarfs down a bowl of cereal and finishes a few last-minute math questions at the kitchen table. The home they are in, a fifty year old yellow-brick farmhouse, still feels too comfortable to belong to them. Every morning at the breakfast table, Dean feels the guilt gnawing at his stomach, knowing that the only reason they had it this good was because of the falling out he and his dad had had a few years back. After spending a childhood uprooted from place after place, Dean had gotten fed up with the constant blur of new faces and the charade of being interested in making new friends. He was usually able to push aside his own needs, but he knew it wasn't good for Sammy. Two years ago, after their father had announced that they were moving once again, Dean hadn't been able to stand it. He told him, perhaps a bit more violently than he should have, that either he found him and Sam a permanent home and travelled on his own, or Dean was leaving and taking Sam with him. After hours of screaming and threatening, his father had caved, remorse written all over his face. Dean could still see the pained expression in his mind. But Dean started looking for houses the next day. He found one he liked, big enough for the three of them with an old, abandoned barn out back that Dean planned to renovate into his own space. John Winchester had used the little he'd saved up to buy it for them. They'd had three days together in the house as a family before John was called to work again. Ever since then it had been scarce visits, ins and outs, saying goodbye as quickly as they'd said hello. But Sammy had a home, and that was all Dean cared about.

When he'd chosen this house, he'd thought small town of Aldhaven would be a respite from the anonymity and invisibility he'd always felt when no one really knew him. But now that everyone in town knows who he is, he feels eyes on him all of the time.

It's a different, sharper kind of loneliness.

As the days draw on, he feels walls closing in around him. It's enough to make him wonder if his insistence on a permanent home was a mistake.

He brushes the thoughts away for the fifth time since waking, and herds Sam out to the Impala parked in the gravel driveway. Sam is in his final year of high school and on track to win every scholarship there is. Dean feels useless next to his obvious intelligence, but he does what he can. He drives Sam wherever he needs to be, and he works as hard as he can to keep them both fed and clothed whenever their father's absence starts make itself known financially.

As they pull into the parking lot of the local high school, Dean makes a point of turning down the AC/DC blasting from his speakers. Sam is pretty well adjusted and fairly well-liked, but Dean doesn't want to make Sam's life any harder than it has to be, and he sees the looks he gets from the muscly, macho redneck types when he rolls in in his sleek Chevy, rock music playing. So he turns it down, hurries out of the parking lot, and makes himself as unobtrusive as he can. It's better this way, he tells himself. For Sam.

But the more parts of himself he hides, the smaller he starts to feel.

After his stop at the school, he continues down the county road to Singer's Auto Shop, parks out front, and commences his first and most uncomfortable social encounter of the day. He thinks he's done a decent job of fending off all of the stir-crazy girls in the town, acting like he's interested but obligated to a higher gentlemanly standard. Most of them, discouraged after a while, stop hitting on him. But it seems that Singer's receptionist, Anna Milton, is going for the gold medal in ruthless determination.

"Dean," she greets him with a cute, bashful smile. "How is your morning going?" She hands him a paper cup full of dark, steaming gas station coffee.

"Same old, same old," he answers, feeling the area around his eyes crinkle in his standard-issue fake smile.

"Oh. Great!" she brushes her rust-red hair behind her delicate ears. An expectant silence drags along behind her words.

"Well… thanks for the coffee. I'd better head in…"

"Do you- well, do you think you'll be around at lunch break today? I packed a couple extra sandwiches just in case. I thought we could walk down to the park and have picnic." Her palpable hope hangs in the air like a guillotine over Dean's neck.

"Ah, Anna. I've actually got some errands to run today…"

He watches her face fall, watches her brief struggle for composure. Guilt wraps itself around his gut again.

"But if you keep asking me, I may just have to say yes one of these days." Dean manages a smile again and ducks into the garage so he can breathe. His skin crawls, like something inside of him is curling up to die.

_I will make it through another day. _

He rolls up his sleeves and buries himself in car grease and sweat until lunch break rolls around. When it does, he sneaks out the back entrance, climbs in the Impala and drives and drives and drives until something dark and heavy tugs at his heart and makes him pull over onto the dusty shoulder of the road. He rests his head on the steering wheel and stares at his hands in his lap until the numbers on the clock force him back down the road again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

On Friday, when he wakes up to the familiar sunlight, Dean promises himself that today will be different. Leaving Sam in the dawn-warmed kitchen, he pulls on his boots and walks down the porch steps into the dewy morning air. There's something liberating about having this much open space around him, no voices filling his head, the majestic blue sky dominating the landscape. The electric blue is punctuated by ragged fleece-white clouds, and the sun's white light filters through them in streams of illumination that make Dean wonder if there isn't a God up there after all. For miles and miles ahead of him there are a million different shades of green, a million living things straining towards the sun's warmth, a million different earthy smells that remind him that there's more out there than his inconsequential problems. He feels the pressure ease off of his shoulders as he takes in the silence of the morning.

_Yeah, _he thinks. _Today is going to be different. _

He gets to the garage early, ready to use some of his newfound energy fixing other people's cars. Unsurprisingly, Anna has brought him a coffee again. He gives his usual smile, and feeling more than usually forgiving, even manages a few minutes of small talk.

"How was your night, Dean?"

"It was pretty regular. Picked up some burgers for me and Sam, watched some movies, had a few beers. "

"That sounds lovely. Do you have any plans for the weekend?"

Dean ignores the obvious entendre. "Nothing much. Maybe see if Sammy wants to go to the movie theatre, do a little work on the Impala, that sort of thing."

"Okay. Well, if you're not busy…?"

Anna lets the question hang in the air, and Dean considers his options. He doesn't want to lie. Not again. Not when today is supposed to be a good day. But he doesn't want to see Anna on the weekend, doesn't want to keep leading her on…

"You know, I don't want to say yes, just in case my plans change." The familiar look of disappointment clouds Anna's features. Dean feels… not good. Something inside him prods at his loneliness, urging him to at least try to connect with another person. He sighs. "But, if you happen to still have those extra sandwiches, I was thinking I could spare a little time at lunch today."

Anna lights up like Dean's never seen her light up before, and within the folds of his discomfort he knows he's done a good thing.

When lunchtime rolls around, Anna is waiting at her desk with a wicker basket and a freaking gingham blanket, and Dean realizes that she must have been planning this for a long time. She's in a white lace sundress, low-cut and short, with her usual brown cowboy boots. Her big hazel eyes stay glued to Dean's face as they cross the small-town sidewalks and make their way down to the river bend. She laughs a little too much, talks a little too loudly, and tosses her hair in an eager way that grates Dean's nerves, but he focuses on her good attributes and reminds himself that interacting with someone every once in a while is probably healthy. Besides, he thinks as he bit into a thick corned-beef sandwich, the food almost makes it worthwhile. After he's stuffed himself with two sandwiches and washed it all down with the lemonade Anna had made, they start to talk again. Wanting to avoid the stilted, awkward conversations they usually got themselves into, Dean pushes aside his instinct to avoid and starts asking her questions.

"So, how long have you lived in Aldhaven? I'm always a bit out of the loop with all of the families here, since we only moved here two years ago."

"Oh, we've lived here our whole lives. Daddy moved here when he was in his twenties because the community had just lost their pastor and needed someone to take over the church. Then he met Mama, they got married, settled down, and the rest is history."

"Wow. So do you have a big family then? Lots of kids?"

"Only three brothers actually. It could be a lot worse."

"Wow, three brothers. I've only got one and the little shit's more than enough for me to handle. Older or younger?'

"Two older, Gabriel and Michael. Gabe is a teacher at the elementary school and Mike's one of the foremen at the factory. And one younger, Castiel. He's the golden boy. Daddy always says that he's going to be the one to follow in his footsteps, take over the congregation and all that."

"Oh. That's… cool." Red flags start to shoot up in Dean's head as they draw near the topic of religion. It isn't exactly an easy thing for him to talk about, and particularly not with a preacher's daughter. Unfortunately, Anna seems to be able to smell his fear, and dives straight in.

"I haven't seen you and your brother at service before. Do you go to a different church?"

"Uh… no, we don't. We don't really go to church. Haven't since we were little kids."

"Oh, why not?"

Dean pauses and considered his answer carefully. Because he didn't want to be a part of a judgemental faith that had never accepted him? Because, if there was a God, he must be a total asshole after everything he'd put Dean and his family though? Because every time he'd set foot in a church before, he'd been looked down on by the pretentious people who claimed they were devout just because they sat in the same pew every week?

"Just not our thing," he said, finally, shrugging.

"Really? Dean, that's what everyone says before they become a part of our community."

Dean shrugs again, hoping his lack of response is enough to change the topic.

"You never know until you try something, right? If you haven't been since you were a young child, your awareness of your spirituality and your relationship with God may be different now. Church may become a positive thing in your life. It is for most people."

"I've just… I've had some bad experiences with religion. There are some things that I just don't want to relive, and honestly, I don't really feel like anything is missing." Memories of shouting priests trying to fix and save and beat the sin out of him in various nameless towns swam around the edges of his mind. He'd abandoned that long ago, settling for his ritual of being thankful for what he had and reminding himself of it every morning as we woke up. It's enough to ground him, and that's all he needs.

"Come on, Dean. You've lived in this town for two years and you haven't even come to church once. And I'm not the only one who hasn't noticed. Why don't you come this Sunday, just to see what it's like?"

"I don't know, Anna…"

"Please? It would mean a lot to me."

"Why?"

"Because I'm really passionate about my faith, and I think you're a great person who deserves to feel God's love and be a part of our community."

Dean shoots her an incredulous look.

"Seriously," she continues. "Don't you ever have those moments where you just _feel_ that there's something out there, something bigger than us?"

Dean thinks back to that morning, to the glory of the sky spreading across the fields like someone had put it there just to take his breath away. "I guess," he says.

"That's what it feels like for me, when I'm listening to the sermon, and praying. I just really think you would enjoy it."

Dean stalls for a while longer, mulling over his options in his head. He thinks back to what Anna said about everyone noticing that he and Sam had been avoiding going to church. It feels like another strike against Dean, another item on the list of things he's judged for in this town. _You need to fit in_, he reminds himself. _Just for eight more months, until Sam's done school_.

"Please, just come this Sunday. Bring your brother. I can introduce you to my family at the tea after the service."

Dean almost balks at that, but manages to keep himself in check. "Uh, well, we'll see. I'll have to talk to Sam about it, you know."

"Of course," Anna smiles. She glances at her watch and starts to pack up the basket of food. "I really do hope you two can come."

Dean smiles awkwardly and nods. What the hell had he been thinking, coming to lunch with Anna? It's so much easier to keep to himself, not get himself pulled further into things. He and Anna walk back to the garage in near silence. When they get there, Anna hugs him goodbye, holding on for a few seconds too long, and leaves him with a cheery "See you on Sunday."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three **

Much to Dean's displeasure, Sam is unusually enthusiastic about the idea of going to church on Sunday, although Dean suspects it has less to do with praying and more to do with Jess, the object of his puppy love, who he knows will be there. He cleans himself up with a collared shirt, tie, and dress pants, but Dean can't find it in him to make that much of an effort. Instead, he throws on the newest, cleanest pair of jeans he has and a black button-down, rolling up the sleeves. The October air is getting chillier by the day, so Dean rummages through his closet for the black double-breasted wool coat Sam had picked out for him a couple of years ago. The end result isn't anything spectacular, but he looks respectable, and it's good enough.

Dean punishes Sam for goading him into the whole church thing by blasting his music en route, loud enough to make Sam cover his ears and give him long-suffering looks. Thankfully, it's also loud enough to calm the anxiety swirling in his stomach. When they reach the church parking lot, it's packed full of the town's standard issue pickup trucks, minivans, and beat-up Oldsmobiles. Dean finds a spot, squeezes in, and he and Sam walk together towards the looming wooden doors.

There are people milling about everywhere, like busy ants in a sidewalk crack. Dean immediately feels itchy. Avoiding eye contact, he slips along the back wall and waits for a couple of minutes until the crowd thins out and he can move again. Sam goes off to sit with Jess and her family, leaving Dean alone in the back of the church. He slides into a pew and soon finds himself sandwiched between an elderly couple that smells of mothballs, and a pair with a restless toddler and a new baby. Just his luck. He picks up the hymn book and thumbs through the pages just for something to do with his hands.

Seconds later, a heavy silence falls over the rows of people. He can see the preacher approaching the pulpit in his black uniform and white collar, his huge hands resting on either side of his large bible. He is a large, intimidating man, with dark hair and clouded, stern features. To his left there is a choir dressed in long, purple robes, and a few feet behind him stand, from what Dean can tell, his wife and children. Mrs. Milton is tall and slender like Anna, with long dark hair. She's dwarfed by the two tall men standing next to her, who Dean assumes must be the two older brothers. Anna stands in front of her mother in a more conservative white dress than she'd worn for her afternoon with Dean, hands folded in front of her. Her eyes search the pews, presumably for him.

To Anna's left stands a slimmer boy in a white dress shirt and blue tie.

Dean knows instantly that this has to be Castiel, has to be the boy his father has chosen to take over his parish, because he's never seen anyone whose absolute perfection makes him believe in God any more than Dean does in that moment.

He isn't as tall as his brothers, and the delicate features of his face echo the beauty of his mother, paired with his father's solemnity. Even from the back row, Dean can see eyes that shine with the calm blue of the endless sky. His neatly combed hair, in contrast, is a dark, full brown. It was as if the rest of his family had been created in dull, muted shades and Castiel stood out in brilliant Technicolor.

Pastor Milton starts to speak, sending his booming voice through the room as if he were God himself. Although Dean barely registers what he's saying, the way that he grips the pulpit, gestures wildly with his fists and spits his words out with fervor makes Dean shrink in his seat, already feeling guilty for whatever sins the congregation is being lectured on. Throughout this, Castiel stands erect, staring into the crowd, a frustratingly blank expression on his face. He's so still that it almost startles Dean when his mouth starts to move, and it takes him longer than it should to realize that he's singing, that the whole family is, that, in fact, the whole congregation is on its feet in song and Dean is still sitting on his ass like an idiot.

He springs to his feet and catches a disapproving look from the old woman next to him. He doesn't bother trying to follow along in his hymn book, instead choosing to keep his eyes fixed on the preacher's son and his ever-so-slightly-pink lips as they form the words of the song. He can't hear his voice above all the others, but he imagines it: a deep, rich tenor, as sickly sweet as honey. He starts imagining all the places those lips could touch, how they would feel on every inch of his skin.

Dean gives himself a shake. _Get a hold of yourself_. It had been years since he'd been with anyone, and he'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be kissed, to hold someone, to feel the give and take of pleasure. After a few months in Aldhaven, he'd stopped looking. If there were any guys that liked to sleep with guys, they sure weren't speaking up about it, and most of the town's population male is overall-wearing farm-boy types, which just isn't his thing. He knows that they guy standing at front of the church is probably the least likelyprospect in the entire town, considering his apparent upbringing, but it's just that it had been _so_ long, and Castiel is so _perfect_.

_Stop. Thinking. About. Him. Now. _Dean chides himself.

He's so enraptured that he almost doesn't notice when the rest of the churchgoers drop to their knees on the fold-out kneelers, but he follows suit, thinking of a different, completely non-religious reason that he'd rather be on his knees at that moment. _Jesus fucking Christ. _

Everyone else bends their heads to their hands at the preacher's command, but Dean can't seem to force his eyes down. The choir and the Miltons all lower their heads, but after a brief moment, Castiel looks up, casting his soulful blue eyes along the angled wooden beams of the ceiling. He seems to be searching for something up there; something just beyond his reach. After another minute, he gives up and lowers his gaze to the praying people with the calm relaxation that comes with the knowledge that you are looking at a room full of people with their eyes closed. Dean watches him look at the stained glass in the windows and the candles along the alter. Then his ocean blue eyes start scanning the rows and, inevitably, find themselves staring into Dean's. Though they're easily fifty feet apart, Dean feels a jolt through every single one of his nerve endings as Castiel's stark, unwavering stare bores through him. They hold each other's gaze for one second, two… His cheeks growing embarrassingly red, Dean is the first to break the stare, looking down at his lap like the people next to him are. He should have been praying anyway. God, he really sucks at this church stuff.

The service resumes and Dean gets through the rest of the impassioned readings and off-key hymns by fantasizing about Castiel. Halfway through "Great Is Thy Faithfulness," Dean looks up at the alter and finds Castiel's eyes already focused on his face, his lips mouthing the lyrics like they held some meaning meant for Dean only. After that, Dean doesn't look up there anymore. One look is normal, two is questionable, but three might get him in real trouble.

When the last hymn is sung and the books are closed, Dean waits just outside the doors for Sam to catch up, itching to tear out of the parking lot and never return. He'd said he would come, and he had kept his word, but that was all he owed anyone.

After two years of pushing it inside, locking it away, being what others expected of him, it had all been brought to the surface by one angelically beautiful boy singing church hymns straight to him from across a crowded room. It had just been a few drawn-out gazes, but he already feels the buzz of paranoia at the base of his skull. Had someone noticed him looking? Was someone going to say something? But no, he was careful, and he's going to continue being careful, and… _god dammit, where the hell is Sam_? He needs to get out of there.

"Dean!" comes a familiar voice from behind him. Anna runs up to him and engulfs him in a perfumed hug. "I'm so glad you came! Did you enjoy it?" Not giving him a chance to answer, she takes his hand and drags him back inside the church. "Here, I said I'd introduce you to my family, didn't I?"

"Oh no, that's totally okay, actually Sam and I've got to get going, we've got… uh… a thing," Dean blathers uselessly as Anna continues to drag him through the crowds to a carpeted room off to the side where people were gathering. Dean just wants to forget about all of this, doesn't want to have to face Castiel in person, doesn't want to fuel the lustful obsession that's taking root, but at the same time doesn't want proof that Castiel's straight. _It's always better from a distance_.

"It will only be for a minute, I promise," Anna assures him.

The rest of the Miltons stand in formation at the front of a line of people gathered to greet the family and thank the pastor for his sermon. Anna pushes through the line and hooks her arm around Dean's, clinging to him almost pathetically as she brings him before her family.

"Daddy, Mama, Gabe, Mike, Castiel, this is Dean Winchester, the boy I told you about from work!"

Mr. Milton gives Dean a charismatic smile and offers his hand. Dean takes it and shakes, happy for an excuse to extract himself from Anna's grip. "Nice to meet you. I, uh, really enjoyed your service this morning," Dean said, turning up the charm.

"I'm glad you were able to get something out of it, Dean. Anna mentioned that his is your first time here, is that correct?"

Dean nods, automatically feeling ashamed of his lack of devotion under the critical regard of Anna's father.

"Well, we certainly hope you and your brother will be back!" Mrs. Milton chimes in. "We always love new additions to our parish family. Right boys?" she says, signalling that it's Dean's turn to move along the line and meet the others. His stomach flip flops. Michael, a larger, rougher version of his father, grabs his hand like a vice and mutters "Peace be with you." Gabriel, a jovial looking guy with shoulder-length hair, does the same. He's passed down the line until he finds himself standing in front of Castiel.

Though he's smaller, the way he holds himself makes him seem more mature than his older siblings. The younger boy locks eyes with him again, his stern, unmoveable expression making Dean squirm. It surprises Dean to find that his eyes are… _sadder_ than they'd looked from far away. He offers his hand, and Dean takes it. It's cooler and softer than his brothers', and Dean lets his palm rest against Castiel's until the boy knits his brows together and cocks his head in confusion. Realizing that he's been staring down at their joined hands like an idiot, Dean starts pumping his hand, probably faster than is acceptable.

"Peace be with you…?" he says stupidly, his voice catching in his throat halfway through the phrase.

Castiel's frown straightens a bit and, for a split second, his eyes gleam. "Peace be with you, Dean." He withdraws his hand, dragging two fingertips over the surface of Dean's palm before turning back to his family and greeting the next person in line.

An electric shiver pulses through Dean's spine. _Did I imagine that? Did he…? _He glances back at Castiel, calmly greeting his future parishioners. _I definitely imagined that. _Dean shivers, releases the breath he's been holding, and goes to find Sam, dragging him out of the stuffy building and all but shoving him into the Impala.

"Did you have a good time, Dean?"

"Yeah. No. I don't know." Dean sighs and kneads the steering wheel with his hands. He needs… he doesn't know what he needs, but he knows he needs it. Something to fill the sudden emptiness he feels in his stomach. "Hungry. I'm hungry. Let's go get some burgers."

"Okay." Sam lets them sit in silence for a few minutes before the inevitable prodding question comes, as it usually does. "Are you okay, Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean forces the word out gruffly. "Peachy."

"Okay. Well, if you wanna talk…"

"Oh, go shove it up your ovaries, Samantha."

"Ooookay then. Asshole."

Dean fights the smile playing on his lips. At least some things will never change.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Monday morning, Dean is already cursing as he gets out of bed. He tries to run through the list of things he's thankful for, but by the time he gets to his job, he's already thinking of Anna , which makes him think of Castiel, which makes him think of piercing clear blue eyes staring straight into his soul and by that time he's thrown his change of clothes on the ground in frustration and sunk back into his mattress.

No one could say he hadn't tried. He'd been nineteen when he moved to Aldhaven, just out of high school and ready to start living the 'real' life that people always promised would come afterwards. Five days after they moved in, the local paper landed on their front doorstep with a front page story about two men who had been caught together in parked truck on the side of the road. When word made it around town, they were both taken by a group of local men and beaten within an inch of their lives. One of them died in hospital three days later. The other survived.

There were parts of the story, though, that didn't make it to the paper. The guy who survived lost his job, and not a single person in town would hire him. His wife left him. His children, two boys, had their lockers vandalized, were ostracized by every one of their friends, and were terrorized and beaten up on a daily basis. It was only when the younger son had both of his legs broken by a couple of older boys that the police would step in and do something.

That was the first time Dean had felt it: the unspoken force at work in the town that made sure normal was celebrated and abnormal was swept under the carpet by any means necessary. The forces at work protected those who did their bidding; the guys who'd beaten that man to death were never persecuted. All evidence convicting them mysteriously disappeared before their trail date, and the case was dropped without another word.

Dean remembered the morning he'd picked up that paper off of the front porch, and read it front to back. He'd felt terrified, paralyzed. Aldhaven was supposed to be a new start for him and Sam, but after finding out about what happened to those men, all he wanted to do was run.

He hadn't left the house that day. He'd stuffed the paper in his closet so that Sam wouldn't see it, and spent the rest of the day convincing himself that he was not going to leave. This was their chance, this was supposed to be their home, and Dean was not going to fuck things up again. He couldn't do that to Sam. His little brother deserved more than that, and Dean was not going to be the one to take it away from him.

So, he spent the next two years learning to be silent, learning to fly under the radar, learning to fit in.

By the time he's dragged himself out of bed, driven Sam to school and himself to the garage, he's the kind of exhausted that coffee just isn't going to fix. Anna brings him a cup anyway, of course. He moves through the day sluggishly, and slips out back for his lunch break alone to avoid Anna. He catches his boss, Bobby, giving him concerned looks throughout the afternoon, but Bobby isn't the kind to ask and Dean isn't about to tell. He usually looks forward to four o'clock, when he can punch out and get home, but today it doesn't seem to make a difference. The heavy feeling in his chest and the memory of haunting blue eyes follow him wherever he goes.

He finishes his last repair on a rusty old Ford, grabs his stuff and slips into the deserted, darkened lobby, letting Bobby close up the shop. He pushes open the front door and steps into the afternoon sunlight. He hasn't taken two steps when he notices the figure sitting on the wooden bench beside the door.

"Castiel?"

The boy raises his head and looks at Dean, and Dean feels elated, bothered, and a little bit turned on all at the same time.

"What are you doing here?"

"I... uh..." Castiel turns up his palms and lets his perfect posture slouch a little, dejectedly. "Is Anna here?" He's wearing a blue short-sleeved collared shirt tucked in to beige pants, complete with the navy blue tie, and there are goosebumps all along his forearms from the late October breeze.

"No, she's not," Dean answers. "She leaves at three every day."

"Oh. Okay," he sighs. "She said to meet her here for a ride home. I guess she told me the wrong time."

"I can give you a ride home," Dean offers without a second thought. If it seems too eager to Castiel, he doesn't say anything.

"No, that's alright. I'm fine walking. Thank you for your offer, though." He stands, heaves his bag onto his shoulder and starts crossing the parking lot.

"Seriously, dude. Let me give you a ride. Your house is probably on my way. It's not a problem."

Castiel stops, turns, and looks at Dean. His gorgeous eyes flit across Dean's face, searching, for a few seconds. His expression, however, doesn't change. Eventually, he says, "Okay."

"Great," Dean grins, feeling something other than melancholy for the first time that day. He leads Castiel to the Impala and lets him pull open the passenger side door and slide in. The boy relaxes into the leather seat, rolling his shoulders and tilting his head back with a breathy sigh.

"Long day, huh?" Dean watches him as he turns the key in the ignition.

"I suppose you could say that. They're usually… long, I guess."

"Hmm," Dean sighs sympathetically, and immediately criticizes himself for being a total girl. He rolls down the windows while he tries to think of something interesting to say, just so he can have Castiel's eyes on him again. The other boy beats him to it.

"You were at the church service yesterday."

"Yeah, I was. It was my first time."

"Did you enjoy it?"

Dean hesitates, not sure of the right thing to say. He doesn't want to offend Castiel. He wants to do anything he can to keep him in the seat next to him for as long as possible.

"Yeah, it was pretty neat."

"You don't have to lie, you know," Castiel's reply comes quickly. Dean takes his eyes off of the road for a split second to look at him. He's staring out the window, the same infuriatingly blank expression on his face.

"Uh…. okay. If you really want to know, church has never really been my thing. But, it wasn't the worst hour I've ever spent." At least the last part is the truth.

"Hmm," Castiel nods, and the syllable sounds a lot more attractive coming out of his mouth than it had out of Dean's.

"Your dad seems pretty intense," Dean mentions.

Castiel scoffs. "Intense? I guess that's one word for it. He's a good man, but he becomes very consumed by what he does." There's a note of sadness in his voice that wrenches Dean's heart a bit. "You can take the next left. It's about five minutes up this road."

Dean lets a silence fall over them, tries to keep things comfortable, tries not to act too interested. He studies Castiel, trying to devise without asking too much. He's clean shaven, his hair is immaculately messy, and his clothes are pressed and pristine. Even with his shirtsleeves rolled up, he looks a hundred times more put together than any other guy Dean has seen in Aldhaven. He's quieter than them too, and every movement he makes seems to be carefully considered, and just as carefully executed. He's everything that Dean can fantasize about, and everything he can't have. Even if he were gay, he would be way out of Dean's league. Lost in his thoughts, he almost doesn't notice Castiel begin to shiver.

"Geez, you must be freezing… Here," he reaches into the backseat and brings up his old brown leather jacket. "Wear this."

Castiel looks at him gratefully and graces him with a tiny, upward curve of his lips, which just about makes Dean's heart explode. Dean's sure he's about to kill both of them because he can't seem to tear his eyes away from the sight of the dark-haired boy leaning forward and slipping each arm carefully into the worn leather. It fits him pretty well, even though it's a little long in the sleeves. He relaxes into his seat again and seems content.

A few minutes later, he gets Dean's attention by placing a hand on his bicep, which makes Dean's hopes skyrocket, but he pushes them down just as quickly. It was just a touch. "Dean, can you stop here, please?" Castiel asks.

"Yeah, for sure. Is your place close?"

"Yes, it's just a minute's walk up the road."

Dean pulls over to the side of the road, wondering why he can't just take him right up to his house, but not prying. Castiel unbuckles, but stays seated, looking at his hands. The expectant silence makes Dean's ears pound.

"I'm sorry if this was any inconvenience to you," Castiel says. "And thank you for stopping here." He opens the door and steps onto the gravel, bending down to get his bag.

"Castiel…" Dean says, although he has no idea what words are going to follow it.

"Yes, Dean?"

"I… I hope you have a really good night."

Castiel gives a drawn, tired resemblance of a smile. It reminds Dean a little of his own. "I hope you have a good night as well."

And then he walks away. He doesn't look back, but it takes Dean a minute or two to drive away, just in case. He leaves the windows down and lets the country breeze soothe his warm cheeks. He's pulled into his own driveway before he realizes that, of all the people Castiel must have shaken hands with that Sunday, he'd remembered Dean's name.


	5. Chapter 5

Hey guys! Thank you so much for all of the follows and favourites, you're all awesome! I am updating as quickly as I can (considering I just started university) and I'll continue to do my best. Just wanted to mention, because I know there's a small age gap in this fic, that Cas is 18 and Dean is 21, which means that any sexual activity they may be getting up to later is completely legal, but if it makes you at all uncomfortable then I'll warn you before those chapters.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Five**

It doesn't take Dean long to decide that the only way to deal with the Castiel situation is to forget about it. It's a reckless infatuation; an error in judgement. He won't go back to the church, he'll avoid Anna and her family, and things will go back to normal. Optimistically, he recalls all of the other times he's fallen for people. In most cases, he can't even remember their last names, and their faces (however attractive) have faded away. This isn't going to be any different.

That's why Dean is a bit taken aback when he finds Castiel sitting on the bench outside of the garage again the next day after closing time.

He ignores the stupid fluttery feeling in his stomach and reminds himself that he's supposed to be forgetting.

"Hey, did Anna screw you over with the timing again?" he says with an easy smile.

Castiel stands up to his full height, maybe an inch shorter than Dean. He is dressed stuffily again, in black pants, a white shirt, and the same dark blue tie, topped off with a shapeless beige trench coat.

"No. I came here because I realized I forgot to give you your jacket back yesterday." He takes the leather jacket from where it's folded over his satchel and hands it to Dean. "Thanks for letting me borrow it. I brought my own today," he says with an adorable shrug of his shoulders.

"You're welcome. Have you, uh, got a ride coming?"

"No, I was planning on walking."

"Dude, that'll take you, like, half an hour. Let me take you home?"

Castiel looks down at his feet. "I've already taken up a lot of your time, Dean…"

"Hey, I've always got time." It might be the wrong thing to say, but Dean waits until Castiel meets his eyes so he'll know that Dean means it. "Okay?"

"Alright."

Inside the Impala, things seem more comfortable than they had the day before, and Dean can't help but think that he could definitely get used to driving around with Castiel in the passenger seat. This time, the conversation flows more freely.

"So, are you still in school?" Dean asks.

"Yes. It's my final year, thank God."

"Hey, aren't you not allowed to take the Lord's name in vain?" Dean chuckles. Castiel rolls his eyes. "That must mean you're in the same year as my brother, Sam Winchester. You know him?"

"Yes, I think so. Very tall, mop-like hair, on the basketball team…?"

"Yep, that's him! So, almost out of high school. Do you have any big plans for next year?"

Castiel shrugs, and suddenly seems self-conscious again. "I'm not sure. No one in my family has ever gone to college. They've all settled down here."

"I didn't go either," Dean admits. "We moved here after I finished high school, and by that time I just wanted to make sure Sammy had a stable home and someone he could count on, so I didn't want to start looking into any programs. There's nothing around here, and money's pretty tight anyways. So I just got my job at the auto shop, and I'm saving up to put Sam through school, wherever he wants to go."

"That's incredibly noble of you."

"Nah, I don't know about noble. I just want to give him the best." Dean stops talking, sensing where the conversation is headed. But for the first time in a while, Dean finds that he _wants_ to open up to Castiel. "Sam and I had a pretty shitty childhood. Our Dad's job never let him stay in one place more than a week or two at a time, so we never had any real friends. We never knew what it was like to get through a full year of school, we never had a room to call our own. We only ever had each other to talk to, so we got pretty close. Part of the reason it was so bad was because we didn't have our Mom. She died in a fire when we were young. And most of the time, it seemed like we didn't really have Dad, either. He missed my Mom a lot, and sometimes it was like his mind was still with her, somewhere far away. And I was three years older than Sam, so I had to be the one to set an example and teach him what was right; teach him how to treat the people you care about."

"I'm so sorry, Dean," Castiel seems genuinely sympathetic. "That sounds really hard."

"It got pretty bad, at times. But hey, we're both still here, and things are looking up." Dean smiles, hoping to lighten the mood. Seeing no similar response from Cas, he jokes, "Do you _ever_ smile?"

Another eye roll. "Anna always asks me the same thing."

"Guess that means you don't then. You should. I bet you have a beautiful smile."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Dean's stomach drops and he knows he's given himself away. Castiel's cheeks flush dark red as Dean turns down his street.

"Do you want me to pull over at the same place?"

"Yes, please."

Dean stops the car, turns it off, and gets out as Castiel does the same. He knows he'll regret his stupid rashness later on, but something inside him is hammering on his heart and telling him he has to follow through. When Castiel closes the passenger side door, Dean steps in front of it, squeezing himself in between the car and Castiel, and leans against the Impala's shiny black exterior. Castiel stops moving, stands still as a statue, his ridiculous trench coat at his sides, his great blue eyes wide. Their faces are a foot apart, but neither of them move.

Dean's body is fighting both sides of a war over whether or not he should close the gap between them. His better instinct is telling him not to, and he wants to listen, but something in Castiel's eyes is telling him that, if he did kiss him, he wouldn't be pushed away.

He reaches his hand up and takes a hold of the end of the boy's blue tie. He tugs it down gently with his thumb and forefinger, watching Castiel's face for a reaction. His left hand joins his right and they move their way up the fabric to the perfect Windsor knot at the top. Castiel lets out a shaky breath and closes his eyes, his lips parting slightly. And _God_, does Dean want to do it then. It takes nearly all of his willpower not to, but Castiel looks so nervous and vulnerable in that moment that Dean knows he can't. He can't be sure that Castiel wants it, and he can't be the one to make the first move, not while he knows the shitstorm it could unleash.

Dean backs away a bit, keeping his hands against Castiel's sternum. Working with his fingers, he loosens the knot of the tie and tugs it down a bit, leaving it uneven and askew. "There you go," he says, his voice soft and throaty. "Maybe that'll help you loosen up a bit." He winks, expecting Castiel to back away and for the moment to be over, but he stays exactly where he is.

"Dean?" he breaths seriously, desperately, struggling for control over his voice.

"Yeah?"

"I want you to call me Cas." He speaks the words like a commandment, and searches Dean's face hungrily for acceptance.

"Okay," he whispers. "Cas." Their eyes lock together, setting off sparks in Dean's stomach. Finally, Cas takes a small step back, and, breaking the connection, slowly begins to walk towards his house. Dean watches him walk, never changing his pace, his satchel thudding against his thigh, until he suddenly, gloriously, looks back.

The heat in his gaze fuels Dean all the way home. He dreams of Cas that night, and vows that the next time he sees him, he will bring a smile to those lips.

When Cas shows up at the garage the next day after closing, Dean isn't really surprised. Something is different between them, and they both feel it. There's no awkward offering of rides, no veiled excuses. They just get in the Impala and drive.

"So, I told you all about my family yesterday. Tell me about yours."

"Well," Castiel says, "that's a bit of a loaded topic."

"Troubles at home?"

"Not… _troubles_, exactly. Just… discomfort. Michael and Gabriel, my older brothers, turned out to be everything my parents wanted- smart, strong, successful. Even Anna has a good job, and she'll probably be married in a few years. But ever since I was young, my father has expected a lot of me. I loved the attention when I was little, but now it just seems like he's trying to force me into a box that I don't belong in. It's complicated, and I guess things are a little tense sometimes."

"Anna told me you're next in line for the holy throne."

Castiel shakes his head and stares out the window. "That's what they all want me to do."

"What do _you_ want to do?"

"No one has ever asked me that before."

"Well, I'm asking you now. What do you want to do with your life?"

It's a long time before Cas answers. When he finally does, his voice is quiet and fragile. "I've never told anyone this before. But I think I want to be a writer. I want to live in a big city where nobody knows me and write about interesting things. But I guess that's pretty stupid, huh?"

"_No_," Dean urges. "That's not stupid. That's an awesome dream." After a moment of deliberation, he moves his right hand off of the steering wheel and places it on top of Castiel's. If Cas doesn't want it there, he figures, he'll be the one to move. Warmth pulses between them where there skin touches, and Dean sees Cas swallow noticeably, but remain still. "And I bet you'll do it, too. Get a high-rise apartment, above all of this, free of this stupid little town and all of its stupid expectations," Dean says, pressing his fingers down in between Cas's. "I can see it."

The muscles in Castiel's face slowly contract and he raises his left hand to his cheek. Dean almost panics (tears aren't really his specialty), until he realizes that Cas isn't crying. He's smiling.

It's a stunning smile, just like Dean knew it would be. It's all white teeth and laugh lines, gleaming eyes and perfection. Cas stops hiding it with his hand and runs his fingers up through his hair, grinning and shaking his head like he doesn't want to believe anything Dean's saying, but he can't deny that there's something in it that makes him happy. Dean slams his foot on the gas and sends them flying down the empty road, wind mussing Cas's hair and filling their ears with white noise. He feels Cas's fingers tighten around his own, and this time even he isn't going to deny what's there.

Dean pulls over and Cas gets out of the car, the glimmer of happiness still in his eyes. Dean's busy trying to find a way to ask when he can see him again when a dusty red car drives by and Cas's face falls.

The car slows a few yards in front of them, then stops on the side of the road.

"Shit."

"What? Who is it?"

"My mother."

Mrs. Milton gets out of her car in a pastel pink pantsuit, a huge smile on her face, and begins to make her way down the dirt road towards them.

"Castiel! I was just out picking up some shrubs for the garden! What are you doing out here, standing on the side of the road?" Her question is good natured, but Cas looks queasy nonetheless. Dean steps out of the car.

"I was just giving him a lift home, Mrs. Milton," Dean explains innocently, offering his hand to make a good impression. Castiel's mother shakes it.

"Well isn't that lovely of you! I hope you've expressed your thanks, Castiel."

Cas nods and mumbles another 'thank you.'

"You're Dean Winchester, right?" his mother continues. "I believe we met after church the other day."

"Yeah, that's me," Dean smiles and sheaths his hands in his pockets.

"Well, we thank you for giving our son a lift, though I hope he wasn't an imposition on your schedule." She shoots Cas a stern look, but it doesn't take away from her homey, southern-comfort sweetness. "Say, we'd love to get to know you more, we feel like you and your brother have been completely neglected since you moved here! It's high time we extend a neighbourly welcome, isn't it? What do you say you both come to dinner tomorrow night?"

Cas makes a strangled sound from the other side of the car, but his mother holds up a hand to stop his protests.

"We insist, Dean. Really. Think of it as a thank you for giving Castiel a lift today." She turns her smile up another notch, and Dean knows he's going to feel like a dick if he says no. He sees the anxious look on Cas's face and mouths a silent 'sorry' before turning to Mrs. Milton.

"I'd love to."

"Oh, wonderful! We can't wait to have you! Come on, Castiel, let's go inside and let the others know." She beckons her son to her with a wave of her hand, and Cas follows her down the road. "Be here at six thirty tomorrow!"

She marches ahead to her car as Cas turns back and turns up his palms in exasperation. Dean returns the gesture, but he can't help the upward quirk of his lips. It's definitely not the ideal circumstance, but the invitation means he gets to see Castiel again, and that thought electrifies Dean more than he'd like to admit.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

The first thing Dean does when he gets home is park the Impala in the old barn he's converted into his personal hideaway, grab a beer from the mini-fridge he keeps there, and lets the cool liquid unwind the knots in his muscles. It's tempting to stay there, just crash on the couch in the corner and stare at the knots in the pine walls all night, but he knows Sammy is waiting for him, and god forbid he's late for the third night in a row, so he heads up to the house.

Sam's doing homework at the kitchen table when he gets there, and Dean can smell a frozen pizza warming in the oven. His grumbling stomach announces his entrance.

"Hey, Sam."

"Hey, where were you?"

"Oh, I was just working late at the garage," Dean answers automatically.

"Really? Cause Adam gave me a ride home after practice, and we went right by the garage an hour and a half ago. Your car wasn't there." Sam doesn't look mad, but to Dean he suddenly looks younger, and the fact that he'd just lied to his little brother, the one he's supposed to protect from the world, itches away at his conscious painfully.

"Oh. Yeah, uh, someone needed a ride home and so I offered. That's all."

"Who was it?"

"Who are you, my girlfriend?"

Sam shoots him an incredulous look and rolls his eyes. "It's just a question, assbutt."

Dean sticks his tongue out in immature retaliation before answering, "It was Cas. Castiel Milton."

Sam sets down his pencil and knits his eyebrows together. There's a heavy pause before he asks, "Is that why you've been late the past two nights, too?"

Dean wants to lie, wants to leave Cas locked away in his mind and not drag him into the real world he has here, but he's never kept anything from Sammy, and he doesn't want to start now. He also doesn't want Sam thinking that he has something to hide.

"Yeah, it is. His sister forgot he was coming I guess, and it just kind of happened from there."

Sam opens his mouth but leaves it agape, as if he's carefully selecting each of his words before he lets them leave his mouth. Eventually, he says, "Castiel. He goes to my school."

"Yeah, he said so. He's a senior too."

"Dean, did he… like, talk about how it is for him there, or anything?"

Dean shrugs. "He didn't seem like he enjoyed it much, but he didn't really say a lot about it. Why, what's with the cryptic-speak?"

Sam sighs and pushes his pile of papers away an inch or two. He looks uncomfortable, and it's making Dean uneasy. "It's just that, I dunno, he gets a lot of crap from some of the guys there. Like, a _lot _of crap."

Dean can feel his shackles go up in immediate defense, but he pushes down the emotion, not wanting his face to give away too much. "Like what?"

"There's this group of skinheads that just won't leave him alone. I guess back in grade school they liked to pick on him because he was quiet and he was the preacher's kid. But now it's gotten a lot worse. They make fun of his name, they call him a daddy's boy, and they call him a fag, cocksucker, pansy. Tell him he needs to 'get on his knees and pray for salvation,' that sort of thing. Usually it's just verbal, but I've seen them shoving him around a couple of times…"

"Didn't you do anything to stop them?"

"Yeah, actually. Me and Adam both went over one time, but we just got shoved aside. We tried though."

Dean swipes a hand across his brow in frustration. "Geez…"

"I guess I'm just wondering, because… like, if you're just driving him home, that's one thing, but, you know…"

Dean looks at Sam, at the concern written all over his face. "But what? What are you saying?"

"All I'm saying is, Dean, if those guys started seeing him with you…"

"_What_?" Dean fumes, suddenly angry; angry at those idiots for hurting Cas, angry at Sam for seeing through him so easily, angry at the town squeezing the air from his lungs. "They're gonna think we're 'fags'?"

Sam returns his intensity. "Maybe, I don't know! Look, I don't know what's going on, but I feel like you aren't telling me something. I don't know if Castiel Milton is gay or not, and I honestly don't care. But what I do know is that you, Dean, tend to send little red flags shooting up all around this town, and everyone knows it. Obviously, you've gotten to know this guy if you've driven him home three nights in a row. And I don't know what that means for you, but all I'm saying is, if people start seeing you together all the time, it might be another red flag moment. And trust me, I know how much you want to protect people you care about. You don't want him to get hurt. That's all I'm saying."

"Sammy, it's not like that…"

"Dean," Sam cuts him off, an insistent look on his face. "I know you. Just listen to me. I don't care what it is, or what it's like, I just wanted you to know. He's already getting hurt. And I don't want you to get hurt too, okay? Just don't… do anything stupid."

Dean's too muddled to process everything, but shakes his head and mutters, "Whatever," by way of response. The kitchen starts to feel smaller and smaller, and he wants to bolt. He struggles for control, not wanting to be the one who always runs away. Sam returns to his math, but Dean can tell his head's not in it anymore. He's waiting for Dean to get mad.

Instead, he says, "Mrs. Milton invited us for dinner tomorrow night. You coming?"

Sam's eyes are all but neon signs flashing the words 'bad idea,' but he sighs again in weary consent. "Yeah, of course I'll come."

"Great," Dean fake-smiles before leaving his brother in the kitchen and heading towards his welcoming bed full of much-needed punching-bag pillows.

Dean heads into the garage for his four-hour weekend shift the next day, and is immediately bombarded by a tornado of fiery red hair.

"I hear you're joining us for dinner tonight," Anna chatters away excitedly. "I'm so glad!" She comes too close to him, putting her hands on Dean's chest and cuddling in. Dean calculates the number of ways he can remove himself without causing her to lose her balance, but they're too few. He grabs one of her hands and steps back, but she takes this as an encouraging sign and intertwines her fingers with his.

"So, how did you end up getting invited? My mother didn't tell me."

Dean lets go of her hand. "I was driving your brother home, and your mom arrived at the same time, and the rest is history I guess."

"You were driving Castiel home? From where?" Anna tilts her head quizzically.

"From here. He told me that you told him you'd be done at 4:30 on Wednesday…?"

"Oh, weird. I don't think I ever told him to come here." Anna shrugs it off, but the weirdness of her obliviousness sticks in Dean's mind. Clearly already back on track with her original agenda, Anna wraps her arms around Dean's neck in an unexpected hug. Her perfume rushes into his nostrils and makes him sneeze, but she doesn't let go.

Instead, she nuzzles into his ear and says, "I can't wait until tonight. I've wanted to invite you over for a while now, Dean. And I hope, maybe after this, you'll be coming over a lot more often…"

Sensing distinctly that she is about to lick his ear, Dean jumps back out of the aura of insanity. "Uh, I've gotta go. Work. But yeah, I'll see you tonight, I guess."

Anna winks awkwardly and swishes back to her desk. Dean walks into the garage so quickly that he almost knocks Bobby off of his feet.

"Where are you goin' so fast, boy?" Bobby asks.

"Oh, just…" Dean glances back in the reception area, not wanting to speak badly of Anna, but not able to conjure an excuse for being flustered.

Bobby follows his gaze and sees Anna twirling her hair around her finger languidly. He snorts. "Anna getting to ya? She's harmless."

Dean snorts in return. "Harmless. Yeah." He doesn't want to think that he's been leading her on, but it seems that any little indication that she may have a chance was opening up Anna's floodgates of affection. He decides he'll have to be more careful. The hours that trickle towards dinner start to feel like the lead-up to a giant game of cat and mouse.

Dean and Sam stand on the Milton's front doorstep at 6:29 that evening. Friday's memory of Cas's hand pressed purposefully into his own thrums at his heartstrings, and he can't help wondering what he'll be like tonight, surrounded by his family. Dean's been working all day at squashing the nameless, persistent hope that kept rising within him.

Mrs. Milton opens the door and greets them warmly, the smell of a home-cooked roast dinner wafting out from behind her. The rest of her family is already seating around a large oak dining table. They're quickly ushered to their seats, Sam dwarfed in between Gabriel and Michael, and Dean in between Anna and a morose Castiel.

"Hey, Cas," Dean whispers beneath the friendly chatter, nudging his shin against the other boy's. Cas stiffens his spine and looks at Dean with sharp blue eyes, riled and intrigued at the same time. He nudges back before removing his leg and all of the warmth of his closeness.

Mrs. Milton brings various dishes to the table and takes her seat at one end, while Mr. Milton rises at the other. "Dean, Sam, welcome to our home. We're very glad you could join us tonight. We'll begin with saying grace," he says, offering his hands to Anna and Michael. Anna gives Dean a smouldering look and licks her lips before grasping Dean's hand forcefully. To his right, Castiel takes his hand gently. The outer edges of their palms touch so slightly that each minuscule movement sends shivers down Dean's back. He fights off the urge already creeping up in his chest to envelop Cas's hand in his own, to take, to search out the feeling of flesh against flesh. The collective uttered 'amen' shakes him back into reality, into the quaint, cozy home decorated with crosses and renaissance prints. The food is passed around, and looks better than anything Dean's eaten in the past year.

"So, Dean," Mr. Milton begins, "Anna tells me you're quite the accomplished mechanic."

"I don't know about accomplished," Dean says, feeling stuffy in his dress shirt. "I loved learning to restore old cars when I was a kid, and I figured I'd better do something with all of the knowledge. It's a decent job."

Michael and Gabriel nod semi-interestedly as they chew their food like workhorses. Mr. Milton is about to ask another question when Mrs. Milton drops her fork with a clatter and cuts in harshly: "Castiel, what in the world have you done to your tie?" Dean looks over to find it half undone, the messy knot centered on his breastbone.

Castiel pauses halfway through a mouthful of food and swallows. "What? I like it this way." He flicks his eyes over to Dean for a millisecond, but it's enough to make Dean's fingers tingle remembering the firm resistance of the fabric against the back of Castiel's neck.

Mrs. Milton glowers at him. "It looks sloppy. Please fix it, Castiel. We have guests."

Cas's face darkens and he forces the fabric through the knot about an inch before abandoning his efforts.

Across the table, Sam is talking to Michael about the school basketball team, all the while keeping a wary eye on Dean. There's more aimless small talk and questions, mostly from Mr. and Mrs. Milton, and quite a bit of talk about church. Mr. Milton tells them all about the youth group and the church's fundraising efforts for African orphanages, and it all starts to feel a bit like an infomercial to Dean. Castiel stays silent, his face blank, and Dean knows he would give anything to be listening to whatever Cas is thinking rather than his father's blathering.

"…and that's why I've always chosen to have my family stand with me as I'm delivering the sermon. There's nothing stronger than the family unit, I believe." Mr. Milton has been talking so much that he's hardly touched his food, but he exhales and tucks in now, leaving silence around the table.

Dean has just shovelled another delicious mouthful of roast beef and mashed potatoes into his mouth when Anna clears her throat, smooths her napkin on her lap, and says, "So, Dean, are you doing anything the first weekend of November? Because it's the big Community Harvest Dance, and…"

The question isn't even out of her mouth, and Dean doesn't have time to panic, before Castiel pipes up for the first time that evening. "I found a new bible study group."

The diners' eyes ping-pong back and forth between Anna and Castiel for a moment before Mrs. Milton hesitantly ventures, "What bible study group are you talking about, honey?"

Castiel lays down his utensils and looks at his parents seriously. "I was looking online the other day and I found a new bible study group they're just starting in Thameswater. It's on Tuesday and Friday nights, and they say they have a focus on critical academic interpretation of the scripture for future clergy members. I thought it would be beneficial for me to join."

"That sounds promising, Castiel," Mr. Milton nods. Dean keeps his eyes fixed on Cas, more as an excuse not to have to look at Anna.

"We wouldn't be able to get you there, though, honey," Mrs. Milton adds regretfully. "We've got our book club on Tuesdays and the church community dinner on Fridays."

"I know," Cas says. "That's why Dean offered to drive me."

All eyes shift to Dean, including Castiel's. The look and undetectable nod the other boy gives him tell him to go along with it, but Dean isn't sure what to say until he feels Cas's leg press up against his once more under the table.

"Uh, yeah," Dean stammers. "I'd love to drive. I mean… I'm free. I mean I offered."

"Are you sure, Dean? It seems like it might be quite time consuming," Mr. Milton says. "And I'm sure Castiel will manage studying on his own, here."

"It's really no problem, Mr. Milton," Dean assures him, as things click in his head. Driving Cas two nights a week means he gets to see him often, and Thameswater is almost an hour away from Aldhaven. Sam's looking at him across the table like he's insane, but there's no way Dean's letting this chance slip through his fingers, even if Cas hadn't actually asked him first. If it was Cas's idea, that was all the better.

"Weren't you the one who said I needed to start getting more serious about my studies now that I'm almost done school?" Castiel counters his father frankly.

The atmosphere around the table tenses slightly. It became obvious to Dean that the pastor was not someone that liked to have his authority challenged. After a moment, he answers, "Yes. Actually, you're right, I did say that. I do think you should be investing more time in our religion. You've been, what's the term… _slacking off_ lately."

"Daniel…" Mrs. Milton whispers sternly.

"What? We both know he has. Maybe a bible study group wouldn't be such a bad thing. We should be glad for the sudden re-interest he's taken in it."

"So I can go?" Castiel asks, disregarding his father's coldness.

"Dean, it's only if you really wouldn't mind. And we would pay you for your trouble, of course," Mrs. Milton says.

"No need to pay me, it's my pleasure," Dean says. "I mean, I've got nothing else to do, so I figure I can at least do Cas- uh, Castiel a favor."

Gabriel suddenly leans an elbow on the table and points his fork at Dean. "So you're saying you drive my brother home once and now all of a sudden you're offering to spend four hours a week in a car with him?"

"Gabriel, don't be rude!" Mrs. Milton chides.

"What? I'm just saying, we could at least pay you for gas, it's not like anyone would willingly want to spend four hours a week in a car with Castiel." He brushes the comment off with a laugh. Cas doesn't even flinch.

Mrs. Milton, extremely frazzled now, stands up. "Gabriel, you will not say another impolite thing at my table! May I remind _all_ of you that we have guests, and guests are not to be treated like this!" She sits again, shaking her head. "I am so sorry, Sam and Dean. This dinner was supposed to be about _you_, and so far my family has done a pretty poor job of making you feel welcome. What do you say we begin again with some cherry pie?" she smiles.

Cas sinks into himself, makes himself invisible, and doesn't speak for the rest of the meal. There's much boring small talk about cars, sports, and even the Harvest Dance (which Anna surprisingly doesn't ask Dean about again). They leave early in the evening, Dean feeling somehow drained but optimistic, and Sam looking at him like he's sinking in quicksand and doesn't know if yet


	7. Chapter 7

Hello, my lovely readers! I am very sorry it's taken me so long to get this chapter up: both life and school have been ridiculous. But I want to say THANK YOU so much for taking the time to leave me reviews. Honestly, without your encouragement I probably wouldn't still be writing this. So thank you! And I really hope you enjoy this next installment!

**Chapter Seven**

When he wakes the next morning, Dean is conflicted about whether or not he and Sam should make another appearance in church. When he peeks into Sam's room he's fast asleep, hair splayed messily over his pillows, so Dean decides to let him sleep. Dean eats, pulls on jeans and a grey sweater, and heads out to the barn.

It's warm within the insulated walls, but Dean feels uncomfortably stifled. Still undecided about a destination, he starts up the Impala and pulls out. He tears up the gravel driveway and recklessly swerves onto the road. With the windows down and his stereo up, Dean travels along the nameless county roads. There's a good feeling that comes with being nowhere, shooting straight between two yellow lines, moving so fast that no one can tell who you are. But in the back of his mind there's always a map pointing the way back to Aldhaven, trapping him.

When he gets back into town an hour later, he ends up in the church parking lot. He knows the service is almost over, and that he is underdressed and will likely be judged for it, but he goes in anyway. He's pretty sure he opens the door quietly, but all of Anna's, Cas's, and Pastor Milton's eyes focus on him when he steps in. Though they're mid-hymn, half of the parish turns around in their seats too.

At the reception afterwards, Dean steals several finger sandwiches before subjecting himself to the Miltons. Mr. Milton shakes his hand heartily, and praises him for returning for another service (however late he may have been.) Anna is moodily downcast, meeting Dean's eyes only in defiance.

Castiel, in contrast, seems ignited. He shakes Dean's hand and holds on to it while he tells him to pick him up at seven on Tuesday night.

Two bland, restless days crawl by. Dean spends most of his time thinking about Cas's eyes: their deep, imploring, entreating way of eating up every movement of Dean's lips. He thinks about the way he interrupted Anna at dinner, asserting himself singularly right before Anna's embarrassing question could be voiced. He comes up with countless unrealistic theories about why Cas had chosen that moment to announce to his family, not to mention Dean, that Dean would be driving him. He tries not to think about the sound of Gabriel's condescending laugh. He spends two hours detailing every inch of the Impala's already spotless interior.

Tuesday night at last arrives. Dean dresses himself in jeans, a black t-shirt and a warm green and blue plaid button-up.

"When are you going to be back?" Sam asks as he scarfs down the last of his hamburger.

"I don't know," Dean admits. "But don't wait up." Sam frowns at him contemptuously. Dean gives him the finger.

He gets to Cas's house early, turns his lights off and waits. He expects to be there a while, as he can see faintly through the window that the family is still gathered around the dining room table, but it's only a minute before Castiel comes out the front door, closes it with finality, and makes his way through the dark to Dean's car. He's dressed in his usual white dress shirt tucked into black jeans, but he is tie-less and his collar is open and unbuttoned. Dean stammers as he swings himself into the passenger seat and closes the door behind him.

"Hey."

"Hey," Castiel nods at him tensely. There's no trace of a smile on his face. Dean's about to ask about his day but the set of his jaw tells him that Cas isn't in the mood to talk. He almost feels like he's done something wrong already.

He puts the car into gear and starts to pull away from the house. Cas lets out a giant exhale as they leave the lights behind them. "So," Dean says. "You're gonna have to help me out a bit with directions here, I've never been to Thameswater before. Am I headed north or south?"

They sit at the empty intersection for a moment. "Actually," Cas says slowly, "if we leave now we'll probably get there too early."

"…Do you want me to come back in half an hour?"

"No. Take me to your place."

Dean looks at Cas curiously, his eyes settling on the smooth white 'v' of skin that his shirt exposes. Cas levels him with an intense gaze, hands heavily on the Bible that sits in his lap.

"Okay," Dean says.

The drive there is peaceful, the Impala carving through the thick, unilluminated darkness. Dean weighs the possibility of bringing Castiel into the house, where Sam is probably up working, but decides against it. They'll only be there for a while anyway. The barn will do.

Castiel doesn't talk, and Dean starts to worry that he's made things awkward, and that sitting staring at each other for the next twenty minutes will be uncomfortable rather than quixotic. But he reminds himself that it was Cas's idea in the first place, and tries to keep his composure.

The barn is cozy. Dean's left the soft overhead lights on, bathing everything in a hazy amber light but leaving the corners in shadow. He and Cas get out of the car.

"So," Dean gestures around, "this is my home away from home. Want a beer?"

"No, thank you," Castiel answers. Then, looking around, he adds, "I like it."

"Thanks." Dean begins to walk around the wide, blue couch that sits against the back wall. "Wanna sit down?"

"Sure." Castiel leaves his Bible on the hood of the Impala. He leans back on the couch, legs slightly apart, hands hanging between them. Dean notices the rapid rise and fall of Castiel's chest, and it makes his own heart speed up. They hold each other's gaze until Dean joins him on the couch.

"Is this where you keep your car?" Cas asks.

"Yeah. Why?"

"I was just wondering, if it, you know, stayed here… no one would be able to see it from the road."

Dean's mouth goes stupidly dry. "Yeah," Dean's voice grates against his throat. "I mean no. No one can see."

Castiel holds his gaze, and Dean stares back. Biting down on the edge of his bottom lip, the dark-haired boy looks like he's waiting for Dean to do something, say something, but Dean's mind is fuzzy and blank. The sound of his heartbeat floods his ears. After several seconds, it's Castiel that looks away first.

"So," Dean starts. "That dinner…"

"Pretty awkward. I know."

"Your brother's a jerk," Dean says honestly, and Castiel looks over at him. His features soften.

"Gabriel? He's just very frank, I suppose."

"No, he's a dickwad. And for the record, I will gladly spend four hours a week in a car with you. Or," Dean shrugs, looks away, "you know, anywhere."

In the pause that follows, Dean can hear the catch in Castiel's breath.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Cas?"

"Can I tell you something?"

Dean nods, and leans in half an inch. He wants to be closer, wants to bury his nose in the crook of Cas's neck and breath in the scent of him. He watches Cas swallow, part his beautiful lips, sigh. He waits for him to speak, suspended in the unbearable gravity of dim light and blue eyes.

"I've always felt like there's something… wrong with me." The last whispered words fall into the air. "Something that other people see and push away. I've always felt broken, somehow…" Castiel looks up at Dean with a quiet fear in his eyes. Dean realizes that simultaneously what Cas is trying to say, and that this is likely the first time he's ever said it out loud. "As I grew up, I felt like I was trapped in this cage. I could never say what I was really thinking. My parents always told me to turn to the Bible if I was struggling, but…"

"…that just made it worse," Dean finishes. "Trust me, I know."

A look of disbelief crosses Cas's features for a second. "You…?"

Dean nods. "Back when we used to move around a lot, we passed through this town. I can't remember the name of it. But when we moved there, I'd left someone behind from the last town." Dean clenched and unclenched his jaw. "It was this… guy. Named Adam. We went out a few times, and dammit, I really started to like him. When we had to leave, I stewed over it for days. I didn't have anyone to talk to, and I couldn't reach him. Then one Sunday, Sammy started begging me to take him to church; he was doing a school project on it, or something. So we went to this Catholic church, and for some stupid reason I decided it would be a good idea to pop into the confession booth. I guess I just wanted someone to talk to. One thing led to another and I ended up saying too much. The priest found out who I was. He gave me a personal invitation to the next service, and I guess I just wanted to feel like I belonged somewhere, so I went. After the service he came up to me, said he wanted to show me something, took me to the back room and beat the living daylights out of me. Said if I kept on 'being a faggot' that I'd go straight to hell, and that he was saving my soul."

Cas looks pained, and Dean can't decide if he was right to tell him or not. The younger boy starts shaking his head, slower and then more surely, defiantly.

"No."

Dean's heart freezes. No? Had he fucked up? Maybe Cas wasn't like him after all. "Uh," he scrambles to save the situation, "Sorry, uh, like I wasn't implying that about you or anything, like, that you're… I just… um…"

"No," Cas says again. He suddenly covers Dean's hand with his own warm one. "I mean, god, Dean…" There are tears brimming in his eyes. His other hand lands on Dean's arm, bringing them closer together, face to face. "You have no idea…"

Dean carefully reaches up and brushes his thumb across Cas's lower eyelashes, letting the teardrop fall into the space between his thumb and forefinger. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Cas takes a trembling breath and looks at Dean, the dampness of his eyes making the blue look dangerously electric. "From the moment you walked into church the other week, I just… I never thought you would actually…"

Dean leans closer. Cool relief floods into his chest, mixing with burning desire. "…be okay with this?"

Cas laughs, a tragic, throaty laugh. "Have you met the people in this town?"

Dean doesn't answer. Instead, he cover's Cas's lips with his own.

Cas gasps into his mouth but presses forward, balancing his own forehead against Dean's and digging his fingers into Dean's bicep. He experimentally presses his lips against Dean's, and he lets him grow still and enjoy the feeling of soft lips on lips for a moment. Dean's heart is beating out of control, making the skin all over his body tingle into nothingness. The logical part of his brain is telling him that this isn't possible: he can't be kissing the most perfect boy in town, the one who carries the hopes of the whole community on his shoulders. Cas flicks his tongue over Dean's lips and Dean's body starts convincing him otherwise. Dean puts an arm behind Cas's back and pulls him closer, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth and ripping ragged breaths out of Cas with the movements of his tongue. Giving in to Dean's pull, Cas swings a leg over Dean's lap and straddles him, treating Dean to the full view of the sliver of exposed chest, and the feeling of his pants being a little tighter than they usually were.

Dean pulls away, but keeps his hands on Cas's sides, running them up and down from his ribcage to his hips. "Cas," he breathes, "I don't want to move too fast, if you…"

"I know," Cas finishes his thought. He leans forward and kisses him gently, teasingly on the lips. "But Dean, you have no idea how long I've wanted this. You have no idea how much time I've spent thinking about you." He rolls his hips slowly, experimentally, and Dean groans. Adrenaline coursing through him, Dean flips Cas over so he's lying on his back on the couch, Dean over top of him. Cas's eyes are blown wide and hazy with lust, and his lips are worried red.

"Cas, are you sure…?"

"Yes." He pulls Dean down roughly by the collar of his shirt, joining their lips again. He picks up on Dean's moves and copies them with his own tongue. Although he's kissed many people, Dean has to admit that he hasn't had a kiss like this in a very, very long time. He lowers some of his weight down on to Cas, the place where their cocks touch beneath the fabric of their jeans growing unbearably hot. Dean starts kissing harder, and Cas responds, a mess of teeth and lips and breath and pushing, grabbing, delicious pressure.

"God, Cas," Dean whispers between the insistent kisses of the boy beneath him, "you're so fucking amazing." He's about to start unbuttoning the rest of Cas's rumpled shirt when the realization hits him like a bucket of cold water. "Shit," he says, pulling himself up, "what time it is? We're gonna be late for your bible group thingy."

Cas stays reclined on the couch, his arms lazily folded above him, his cheeks flushed red. There is an easy, radiant smile on his face. "Dean," he says, turning his head and laughing into his shoulder. He pushes himself up onto his elbows and beckons Dean closer. When Dean comes, he runs his fingers through Dean's hair, up around his ears, and kisses him again, his tongue mingling with Dean's, their breaths flowing together. He meets Dean's eyes, and the beautiful, bashful smile graces his features again. "There is no bible study group."


	8. Chapter 8

Another update! I apologize for the wait times; I always do my best to get chapters written when I can. As always, thank you for your wonderful reviews, they're really nice to read and they always inspire me to continue writing this. Thanks for reading! :D

**Chapter Eight**

Wednesday is rainy and grey, but Dean wakes up with a smile on his face. When he realizes why it's there, it grows even bigger. As he dresses his mind swims in the memory of Cas's lips on his and his blue eyes filled with fumbling passion. He reaches to remember the feeling of Cas's firm, lean body under his hands, and is gratified by the thought that it won't be long before he can revel in that feeling again. There's a measure of disbelief there as well, the nagging doubt that he isn't good enough for Cas in the first place, that it had all been a fevered dream.

The warm, elated feeling in his chest assures him that is hadn't been.

Sam's about to walk out the door for an early basketball practice when Dean reaches the kitchen. He looks Dean up and down suspiciously. "You look… happy."

Dean snorts. "And that's unusual?"

"Yeah, actually. What happened?"

Dean grabs the milk out of the fridge and drinks straight from the carton. "Nothing. Just had a good time with Cas last night, that's all."

Sam purses his lips. "Ooookay then. I'll see you later, Dean." He leaves the house with a sigh, but it's not enough to dampen Dean's mood.

He ends up getting to the garage early, humming his favourite song and fantasizing about Cas as he unlocks the shop and gets to work on a routine oil change that's waiting for him. He's so lost in his thoughts that he nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears the little knock on the door and Anna steps in.

"Hey, Dean," she says quietly. "Can we talk?"

Dean turns down the radio and sets down his wrench. It's a slow day, and he's only got one job waiting for him, so he decides that he can spare a moment.

"Sure." He leans against the raised car he's working on as Anna sits down on the concrete steps that lead up to the reception area. He takes in her pale skin and big eyes, but they're both features she shares with her brother, and only serve to fuel Dean's vision of Cas.

"I… just want to apologize," she starts, her eyes on the floor. "I know that I've been kind of pushy lately, and I feel like I've been making you uncomfortable."

Dean wants to nod, but knows that he'll seem like a jerk if he does.

"I never meant to do that," Anna continues. "But the truth is, as I guess you've figured out, I really like you, Dean. I just think you're wonderful and handsome, and perfect. But I've realized now that I shouldn't have been so underhanded about it. Which is why I decided that I'd just tell you."

She finally looks up at him, her incurable hope written all over her face. It's all Dean can do not to laugh at the irony of the situation, but he also feels sorry for her, and it clouds over his good mood.

"I know it's not conventional," she says, "and that girls aren't supposed to make the first move and all that. But it's different with you, Dean. I think about you all the time, and I don't want to lose my chance. So, I came here to ask you again, would you go to the Harvest Dance with me? I promise I won't be pushy any more. I just think we could have a really good time together."

Dean realizes that he hasn't spoken, and struggles to find something to say. His cheeks are growing red; he's embarrassed for her. He feels bad, but he isn't going to lie. He's never had those feelings for her, and with Cas constantly, gloriously on his mind, giving in to her isn't even a possibility. Still feeling pity, he walks over and joins Anna on the steps.

"Anna, look," he says, shrugging, "I think you're a great person…"

Her frown appears immediately, and it's all Dean can do to stop himself begging her not to cry. She is beautiful, and in her world he knows that there's no good reason why he should be turning her down.

"I really do think you're great. But… I'm with somebody else. Okay?"

Anna laughs humorlessly and buries her face in her hands. "Are you kidding? Who is she? Why didn't you just tell me in the first place?"

"It kind of just happened…"

"So," Anna says with sudden venom, "you knew I liked you but you started going out with someone else?"

"I'm sorry, Anna. But honestly, it's got nothing to do with you. I didn't mean to hurt you. I just don't feel that way about you, and I'm not going to lie and say I do."

"What's her name?"

"Anna, it doesn't matter…"

"Yes, it does. Tell me her name. I need to know."

"No." Dean stands and turns his back to Anna, unwilling to be a part of the insanity that's gathering like a storm around her. "Anna, please just let this go. You're a nice person and I bet there are so many people who would love to be with you. But I can't be."

Anna stands up resentfully, anger replacing the wounded look on her face. "Fine. Whatever. But if you're not going to tell me who she is, I _will _find out on my own. I at least deserve to know the truth Dean, instead of being treated like a child and lied to."

She leaves, slamming the door, and Dean rolls his eyes. Even if he wasn't with Castiel, there was no way in hell he'd ever be with Anna's craziness. He'd just turned her down and he was already being treated like a cheating boyfriend. _Dodged that bullet_, he thinks to himself before letting the whole issue fade into the back of his mind. He fills its place with Cas: with everything he wants to do with him, show him, share with him. He kicks himself for being so mushy and sentimental, but it's been so long since he's felt this kind of hope. Instead of letting himself get carried away, he focuses on Friday night, and how he can make it absolutely perfect for Castiel.

The days leading up to Friday are torturous, as Cas doesn't have a cell phone and there's no way for Dean to contact him without it seeming odd. He grows so impatient that he ends up at the Milton's house half an hour early on Friday night. Nevertheless, Cas is in the passenger seat of the Impala not two minutes after he pulls up. This time, he throws his Bible into the back seat as he buckles up, and Dean laughs. He tears down the county road, and when they stop at the intersection, reaches across the gap between them, takes Cas's face in his hands and kisses him hard.

"Hey," Dean's voice is gravelly as he stares into Cas's eyes.

"Hey," Cas responds, a slight smile on his face.

Dean lets go and starts driving again, taking a left turn and heading out of town.

"Where are we going?" Cas asks, quirking his eyebrows.

"Thameswater," Dean says matter-of-factly. He watches Castiel's confused reaction, supressing his laughter.

"We can just go to your place. I meant it when I said there was no bible study group. It wasn't just for last week." Dean keeps a straight face. "Seriously. There's nothing at all in Thameswater, Dean. I just told me family that so we could…"

"Chill, Cas," Dean finally smiles and cover's Cas's hand with his own. "Haven't you ever been on a proper date before?"

Cas look of confusion doubles. "A date? No. I guess I haven't."

"Well then," Dean says proudly, "this will be your first."

Dean takes in the touched look on Cas's face. The roads are clear and the fall night is unusually warm, so Dean cracks the windows and taps the gas. Castiel removes his hand from under Dean's and adjusts the stereo knob, filling the car with one of Dean's many 8 tracks.

The hour-long drive seems to fly by, and the whole time Dean finds it impossible to keep his hands off of Cas. One hand on the wheel, his other repeatedly finds its way to Castiel's fingertips, or his denim-clad thigh, or around his shoulders. Twice, Cas jokingly pesters him to keep his eyes on the road, but it's difficult. Cas seems illuminated from the inside, and alive in a way that he hadn't seemed before, and it's hard for Dean to look away.

Finally, they arrive in Thameswater and pull up to a little diner that's just off the main road. The sign reads 'Gerry's' and it's severely lacking in romance, but it's mostly empty and no one from Aldhaven is anywhere in sight, so it meets the qualifications.

Dean and Cas seat themselves in a single booth in the corner and the tired waitress brings them menus. Cas removes his adorable, ridiculous trench coat and settles into his seat. The speakers in the corners play a slow, sappy Elvis song. Cas blushes self-consciously.

"You okay?" Dean asks.

"Yeah. I'm just… I've never really done this before. Any of it. And you obviously have. I don't want to do anything… wrong."

"Cas, you won't, you don't need to worry about that. There is no wrong, there's just us. This. Whatever we want it to be."

Cas looks like he wants to say something else, but the waitress interrupts to take their order. Dean orders a bacon cheeseburger and Cas gets a chicken wrap, "And," Dean adds, "a chocolate milkshake to share."

When she leaves, Cas runs a hand through his hair, making it stand messily on end. Dean notices his eyes dart nervously around the diner to the few patrons sitting at the bar and an older couple sitting in a corner booth. Dean reaches across the table and grasps his free hand. "Hey," he reassures him gently, "we don't have to worry here. No one can see us, and no one here knows us anyway. It's okay."

Cas meets his eyes, struggling to mask the discomfort in his own, "I know, but…"

"I promise we're safe, Cas. And if anyone causes a problem, I'll beat the shit out of them."

Cas cracks a smile despite himself, the same shy grin he'd worn before which draws his eyes down to the tabletop, to Dean's and his hands intertwined. He rubs his thumb between the crease of Dean's middle and ring fingers in an insistent, repetitive motion that makes the tips of Dean's ears grow hot. "Okay."

When the waitress returns with their food, Cas withdraws his hand as if he's been caught robbing the cash register, but the waitress (to Dean's relief) gives them a pleasant, understanding smile.

"So," Dean says when he's tucked into his burger, "tell me more about your writing."

"Uh, well…" Cas stammers, "it's not really any good."

"Bull."

Cas, adorably, snorts. "Okay. I, um, write poetry sometimes. Really terrible poetry. But it is a very cathartic practice. Not the type of stuff we have to study in school. Poems that mean something. Something that, I think, my younger self would have benefitted from being able to read. I know that sounds kind of dumb."

"Doesn't sound dumb at all. That sounds really important."

"I've also been writing this novel… It's not very good either, but it's about these two people… guys… who, you know… fall in love. I guess." Cas takes a bite of his wrap, tilting his head to lick a drip of sauce that has escaped down the side, and Dean can't help but stare at the flick of tongue that he sees. Cas catches his eyes as he takes another bite and swallows.

"That sounds awesome. Maybe you'll let me read it someday?"

"Eh. It's not my best work. It was never really meant for anyone to see. I think I started it more as a way of working through everything. It was an escape from all of the crap that happens on a daily basis. I guess it was also an attempt to see this part of myself in a positive light. I just got attached to the characters, I guess. So I kept writing."

"Seriously, I think it sounds fucking awesome. I've never been the biggest reader, but hey, even I know that if people don't tell their own stories, no one else is going to. So I think you should finish it. Maybe even show it to someone. It may be better than you give it credit for." Dean leans over the table and takes his milkshake straw between his lips. It surprises him when Cas does the same, catches him off guard that their faces are inches apart. The scent of Cas's skin clouds his mind, and part of Dean wishes they were back in the barn where they had privacy. But there's so much of Cas that he doesn't know yet, and so much that he wants to spend hours and hours finding out. He can't identify the feeling, because it's something that he's never felt before: he could spend days on end listening to Castiel talk.

"What's your favourite food?" Dean asks suddenly. Cas gives him a quizzical look. "What? I just want to know. Maybe I want to cook it for you someday," Dean winks.

"Okay," Cas smiles cheekily, "in that case, I love a good homemade soufflé…"

"Oh, shut up."

"Okay," Cas concedes, "I love Thai food. There's this one ridiculously amazing place— "

"Over in Denton? Sam and I order from there all the time!"

"God, it's to die for." Cas makes a noise in the back of his throat that set Dean's nerves aflame. He feels his composure starting to crumble; his desire for Cas is frantic, all-encompassing, he wants everything all at once. He paces himself.

"Okay… what's your favourite memory?" Dean scrapes together the last few fries on his plate and shoves them into his mouth. When he looks back up, he notices Cas's face has grown more melancholy.

"I don't know if I have one."

"I'm sorry." Not wanting to ruin the mood, Dean offers, "We can talk about something else."

"No, it's okay." Cas searches for a moment before meeting Dean's eyes. Something in Dean's chest aches at the vulnerability he finds there. "I guess my favourite memory is when my parents took me, Anna, Gabriel and Michael to this huge pumpkin patch to pick out pumpkins to carve for Halloween. We were all young. I think I was five. I just remember feeling loved, and looked after…" Cas breaks off, shrugging. "But I don't think about it a lot. Things aren't like that anymore."

The waitress clears their plates and brings the bill as Dean struggles to find the right thing to say. Years of casual flings hadn't prepared him for this, for actually _caring_. Cas is already putting on his coat and looking at Dean expectantly while Dean sits there like an idiot. He quickly pays and catches up with Cas. When the step outside the diner, Dean checks that they're alone and then reaches for Cas's hand, drawing close and spinning them so that Cas is leaning against the brick building, Dean boxing him in. "I promise you that we're gonna make you a whole new set of favourite memories to choose from."

Dean's willing to restrain himself, but it's Cas that goes in for the kiss, hungrily attacking Dean's lips. Dean threads his hand behind Castiel's head and deepens the kiss. Their bodies push and pull for dominance, hands catching and wrenching jacket lapels and belt loops. It's only when Dean's worried that they're both going to lose their balance, and a significant amount of blood has rushed insistently downwards, that Dean breaths, "Let's go the car."

Cas all but drags Dean to the Impala, which is parked in the far corner of the parking lot, opening the door to the back seat and gently pushing Dean in before him. Dean falls on his back on the wide leather seat, and Cas shuts the door behind them and is instantly over top of him, his eyes heated. He lowers himself and kisses Dean again, tangling their legs. Dean forces Cas up and pushes his coat off of his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. He moves to the cream-coloured shirt next, yanking the fabric out of Cas's jeans and flying through the buttons to reveal Cas's porcelain expanse of thinly muscled chest. Dean runs his hand over the dark nipples there and Cas gasps, struggling for breath as Dean continues downwards, tracing the contours of Cas's abs and attaching his mouth to the trail of black hair that leads downward into his jeans. Cas puts his hands on Dean's shoulders for balance when Dean palms the erection painfully straining against his pants, feeling the wetness there and immediately giving into the urge to cover it with his mouth, sucking and nipping through two layers of fabric.

"Jesus, Dean—" Cas trembles as he pulls back and rips Dean's shirt away from his body. Dean reclines again, Cas's legs spread on either side of his chest, and unzips Cas's jeans, pushes down his underwear and frees his cock, rock hard and already leaking with precum. Dean uses his thumb to smear it over the slit before gripping the base, learning up and taking Cas into his mouth.

"Fuck…" Cas moans incoherently, attempting to keep himself upright with a hand splayed on the window. Dean draws back slowly, hollowing his cheeks and swirling his tongue around Cas's length as he goes. Cas hisses as he repeats the motion, taking him in to the hilt and drawing back, building a rhythm that Cas begins to echo with his hips, rocking into Dean's mouth. Dean's so absorbed that he's not expecting it when Cas reaches down between his legs with his free hand and undoes his pants, taking his own hard cock in his hand. Dean grunts, and Cas arches his back at the sensation it produces. In a dreamy state of building pleasure, Cas draws his hand up, fills his palm with saliva and returns to Dean's dick, managing firm, mind-blowing strokes. Dean's pleasure is heightened by the vision of Cas kneeling above him, half-naked and exposed, his big blue eyes locked onto Dean's as he thrust into Dean's mouth.

At once, Cas closes his eyes in ecstasy. "Dean, god, I think I'm gonna…" the words give way to desperate, breathy noises as Cas begins to buck more wildly between Dean's lips. He speeds up his strokes in turn; Dean screws his eyes shut in pleasure and struggles to keep his muscles from letting go. With a few slow, intense pulls, Cas is coming in his mouth, collapsing down and holding Dean's head against him with both hands as Dean hurriedly swallows.

"Holy _fuck_," Cas exhales, lowering a warm, sticky hand to Dean's chest. He leans down and kisses Dean deeply, licking the salty liquid from around Dean's lips. Seconds later, his lips are gone, kissing and biting a line down Dean's stomach towards his still-heavy cock.

"Cas, you don't have to, if you don't want to…"

"Trust me, I _want_ to."

Dean is engulfed in the delicious, warm heat of Cas's mouth, and the sensation is almost enough to set him off on its own. Cas copies Dean's moves, adding in a few of his own, and manages to swallow nearly all of it when Dean comes. A few drops of the white liquid dribble off of his chin on to Dean's stomach, and are sandwiched there when Cas lowers his spent body against Deans. Dean wraps both of his arms around Cas's slim frame and holds him close as he kisses him languidly, taking his time and memorizing every section of his lips.

He's gripped by the feeling that the 'after' has never been this way before. When he's finished, he usually doesn't want to remain there, holding his partner closer to him and lavishing in the pleasure of being together. It scares him, but, he notices, it does not make him want to run.

He chuckles. "You know, I was going to take you to the movies and everything."

Cas rests his head on Dean's collarbone and listens to the faint heartbeat. "I'd much rather be here."


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Hey guys! I know it's been forever since I've updated (I'm sorry!) and I will definitely try to update quicker and try to keep life from getting in the way. I've planned out most of the rest of this fic (I'm guessing it will be 20-25 chapters) but if you have any input or something you'd want to see happen, drop me a review or message me on tumblr ( .com)! I love all of the feedback you guys are giving me, and I'm super-duper excited that you've all stuck with it and are still reading. You're all the best! 3 Anyway, enjoy!

-RhododendronPonticum

**Chapter Nine**

After Friday night, Dean feels an energy coursing through him that he's sure he hasn't felt in the last three years. At very inopportune times during the day, the image of Cas's wet lips around his cock will flash through his mind and leave him completely unfocused and riled up. He's so restless that he puts in extra hours at the garage on Saturday just to keep his hands busy. Sunday's church service has Dean's imagination working overtime as he drinks in the ridiculous blue of Cas's eyes from his new second-row pew.

When Dean arrives home on Monday afternoon, the house is eerily quiet. It takes him a few minutes to realize that Sam isn't there. He wracks his brain and reconfirms that Sam doesn't have basketball practice or anything on Monday nights. He double and triple checks his phone for any texts, but there are none. Figuring Sam's out with friends, he lets two hours pass.

He's zoned out in front of the TV when his phone starts ringing.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Dean? Are you busy?" Sam's voice sounds distant and defeated on a level that doesn't sit well with Dean's 'big brother' instincts.

"No. What's up, did something happen? You alright?"

A long, static-y sigh comes from the other end of the line. "Yeah, I'm fine, I guess. But could you maybe pick me up at the school? I'll explain the rest when you get here."

"On my way," Dean says, already heading out to his car. "Five minutes."

He's there in less than his usual time, thankful that the county police aren't sitting on their usual sideroad clocking speeds. He screeches into the near-empty school parking lot and sees Sam sitting on the curb outside the front doors. As he pulls closer, he sees that the area under Sam's eye is bright red, and he's hunched over in a way that seems painfully unnatural. Though he's alone, Dean throws the Impala into park and jumps out, ready to take down anyone who might have touched his little brother.

"Dean," Sam struggles to his feet. One arm remains wrapped around his side, protecting whatever injury is hiding beneath his shirt.

"Sammy, what the hell happened?" Dean asks frantically, a sick feeling accompanying the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He wants to punch someone, but there's not another person in sight. "Who did this to you?"

"It's a long story," Sam says with obvious unease. "Can we get home first?"

"No." Dean crosses his arms and blocks Sam's path to the passenger side door. "Tell me whose ass I've gotta kick."

"Dean, seriously, I think you'll deal with this better if—"

"Sam," Dean barks, all business. "Tell me what happened. Now."

Sam sighs and sits back down on the curb, motioning for Dean to do the same. He does.

"Okay," Sam says. "Just… don't freak out."

"I'm already freaking out," Dean grumbles. "No one is allowed to hurt you, Sammy."

Sam takes a deep breath, then starts. "Remember how I told you about those guys who always pick on Castiel?"

Dean's anger doubles instantly. "Yeah."

"I was walking out of the school after last period, and I saw this group of guys kind of gathering around his locker while he was getting his books. They kept their distance, but I could tell something was up. When he started leaving, they all sort of followed him. I pulled my buddy Eric with me and headed out after them. Castiel was walking along there," Sam pointed to an awning–covered pathway against the side of the brick building, "but before he could get to the parking lot they boxed him in against the wall." Sam stops and glances at Dean anxiously, noting his clenched jaw and fists. "Do you want me to keep going?"

"Yeah," Dean says gruffly.

"Okay. Well, they had him trapped there, and they started shouting stuff at him…"

"What stuff?"

"Like… I dunno, asking how many dicks he's sucked, calling him a faggot. One of them said he was gonna slit his throat if he ever laid a hand on him."

Dean felt his blood boil.

"But then," Sam continued, "they starting joking about it, asking him if he was attracted to them and stuff. He wasn't responding, but they just kept taunting him. Then they decided that he was. Attracted to them. And said that, if he wanted to make it home alive he'd have to suck off every one of them, considering how good he was at it. Then one of the bigger guys pushed him down onto his knees. He fell pretty hard. I was afraid they were going to start kicking him, so that's when me and Eric rushed in. But there were like, fifteen of them, Dean, and two of us. It wasn't that hard for them to hold us off. I got a few punches," Sam gestured to his eye, and the spot right below his ribs, "and so did Eric. But Castiel got the worst of it."

Dean grates his teeth. "What do you mean?"

"While most of the guys were busy pummeling Eric and I, he got up and tried to slip away. But two guys saw, and they slammed him up against the wall. I think he hit his head. Anyway, one of them pinned him there by his arms, and if that wasn't enough another guy went for his throat. I don't know how hard they were pressing… I tried to get to him Dean…"

"Yeah, I know, Sammy," Dean choked out.

"Anyways… they started throwing punches. I was about to call the cops, but then Mr. Milton… er, Gabriel, I guess, came out of the school and saw. He yelled at them… I don't remember what. But, he's a teacher, so they all sort of gave up and left."

"So is he okay?"

"I don't know. He stayed on the ground for a while. Gabriel just kind of stood there looking down at him… he didn't really look like he wanted to help. And then…" Sam broke off and kept his eyes on the ground.

"What?" Dean pressed.

"Then he asked Castiel why had to be such a fucking freak, and why couldn't he just fit in and not start stuff like this and make him look bad. He walked away like he was going to leave him there, but before he pulled out of the parking lot, he shouted at Castiel to get in the car and to stop acting like a sissy. And he did, and they left."

Dean could feel his head throbbing. "I'm going to kill that son of a bitch…"

"Dean," Sam protested, "how is that going to fix anything?"

"I'm not just going to sit here and let this slide, Sammy. First you're going to give me the names of the assholes who did this in the first place, and then I'll string them up by their balls, and then I am going to go punch Gabriel's face in."

"Dean, are you even listening to yourself?" Dean leveled Sam with an angry stare, and Sam rolled his eyes and buckled under the pressure. "Okay. I don't know all of the guys. The only ones I know are Tyler Walpole and Jack Fraser."

"Fraser, as in the mayor's son? Really? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Dean, you can't do anything to any of them, you'd be blacklisted. You'd get arrested or kicked out of town or something."

"Yeah, and ain't that a fucking double standard." Dean got in the Impala. "Come on, Sam. Let's get you home and get some ice. Then I've got some things to take care of."

Half an hour later, Sam's eye is tending towards a sickly purple-yellow colour. He insists that he's fine, so Dean leaves him with a bag of frozen peas pressed against his face, watching the baseball game. After promising not to beat anyone up, Dean heads from the house.

Mrs. Milton answers the door with an armful of dinner plates, halfway through setting the table. She looks surprised to see him, but he barrels through before she can paint on her plastic smile and ask why he's come.

"Is Cas here?" he asks, his eyes searching the dim space behind her.

"Yes," she answers slowly, her eyes guarded. "Castiel is upstairs in his room. May I ask why you're—?"

"I've just got to ask him something," Dean says as he walks around her into the house. Mrs. Milton stares after him, door wide open, as he seeks out the stairs and bounds up them.

The second floor of the Miltons' house is a long hallway with five heavy oak doors. They're all closed except, luckily, for Cas's. His room is mostly blank—white walls, a matching night stand and dresser, and a desk with nothing on it expect for a few pens and his Bible. He sits on his bed, on top of a neatly made blue comforter, facing away from the door.

Dean knocks softly before slipping in and closing the door behind him. It takes Cas a moment to turn around, but when he does, Dean notices his eyes are raw and bloodshot.

"Dean," he says, his voice caught between a tremble and fiery anger, "what are you doing here?"

"Sam told me what happened," Dean says. He crosses the room and sits beside Cas on the bed. Cas closes his eyes and shakes his head, jaw clenched, seeming more irate than hurt. "I wanted to see if you were alright."

"Yeah, well, I'm fine," Cas forces out, his voice edgy and rough. "It's happened before and it'll happen again and this time was no different." He sits with his shoulders tensed around his ears and won't meet Dean's eyes. After a while, he adds, "You really shouldn't be here, anyway."

"Cas," Dean says gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. Cas lets him, but doesn't lean into the touch. "I'm here because I care about you, and because those guys and your brother are fucking assholes… I would have given anything to be there to stop them from hurting you, but I wasn't. But I'm here now, and…"

"But you shouldn't be," Cas says, trying to keep his voice even. He stands and walks over to the small window in the far wall, staring out at the treetops. Dean stays on the bed, giving him space. After a while he says, softly, "It was worse this time. It was worse because it felt like they were right."

"What do you mean?"

"Before, I could always distance myself. Everything they said about me, I could always deny it to myself, even if it was true. It was protection. But now there's you, Dean… and it feels like they've got something to take from me now." Dean feels his heart clench Cas rests his elbows on the windowsill and lets his face fall into his hands. "I couldn't get you out of my head," he continues, "and it made me feel… I don't know, it made me feel like they took something beautiful, and they made it disgusting."

Dean gets up and joins Cas at the window. The late fall light is fading from the sky, and Cas still won't look at him, but Dean cups his face in his hands and drags his thumb over his cheekbone. "Cas, they're the ones who are disgusting." There are so many things he wants to say, but he isn't articulate enough, and can't find the right words. "They can never, ever take away what we have. Don't give them that power. You know we're stronger than them."

Cas finally looks up, and Dean gets lost in the blue, feels his entire being magnetized towards him. His heart rushes.

"Just because they don't understand," Dean whispers, "doesn't mean they're right. They couldn't be more wrong, and you know that. They will never make this disgusting, because we know that this," Dean kisses Cas once, lightly, on the lips, "is more special than anything that any of those assholes will ever have."

Castiel's face is drawn, and he's struggling to hold himself together. Dean wraps his arms around Cas's shoulders, holds him against his body as if he's fragile, revels in the feeling of Cas's smooth cheek against his jaw and breaths in the scent of him. Cas slips his arms around Dean's waist, his palms spread across Dean's back, pressing as if he were afraid to break contact. "Okay."

"They will never take me away from you," Dean murmurs into Cas's hair. They stand still for a moment, and Dean staves off the persistent thought of what might of happened to Cas if someone hadn't stepped in. He pulls back slowly, letting Cas find his way out of the embrace without losing the safety he'd found there.

"Can I see?" Dean asks.

Cas nods, and silently begins to unbutton his shirt. He slips it off of his shoulders to reveal finger-shaped bruises around both of his biceps, and a dark yellow bruise on his stomach to the left of his belly-button. He tilts his neck upwards so Dean can see the discolouration above his collar bone, up along the side of his neck.

"Is your head okay? Sam said you hit it."

Cas nods again. "It hurts a bit, but it's fine. It wasn't hard enough to cause any real damage."

Dean tries not to think about if it had. He steps closer to Cas again, slipping his hands beneath Cas's undone shirt to the warm skin of his hips. Barely touching, he leans down and brushes his lips over the spots on Cas's neck. Cas fastens an arm around Dean's shoulders, surrendering the weight of his body. Dean finds his way to his lips, plying gently, sucking the plush pink flesh, teasing Cas's tongue. Their breathing is slow and they touch each other with unbearable gentleness, both unwilling to cause the other pain, or make each other crumble.

The harshness of the knock on the door makes them both jump. Cas leaps back and begins frantically buttoning his shirt, and Dean scrambles to find a seat in Cas's desk chair. A terrible racing overtakes the warmth of Dean's heart. The door creaks open. Cas has buttoned most of his shirt, but the bottom hangs wrinkled and untucked. Mrs. Milton pops her head in, oven mitts on her hands. Cas's cheeks bloom red.

After a pause in which Dean feels like the entire world could implode, she asks, "Is everything okay, boys?"

They both nod. "What were you doing?" Mrs. Milton asks. There a hint of suspicion in her voice. It's just a hint, but it's enough to set Dean on edge.

Castiel swallows. "We were just… talking about school stuff."

Mrs. Milton's eyes flick between them both, but she doesn't press the matter. "Are you staying for dinner, Dean?"

Dean looks at Cas, and sees that his eyes are very clearly broadcasting how little he wants a repeat of the last time Dean had stayed. "Uh, no, I've gotta get home."

Mrs. Milton smiles and nods. Then, seeing Cas's untucked shirt, "Castiel, how many times have I told you not do dress like a slob? What has gotten into you lately?"

Cas shrugs, expressionless. Mrs. Milton sighs. "Well, it was nice to see you, Dean. Let us know when you have time to make it for dinner again."

When she's gone, Cas sinks into his mattress. "Dean…"

"I know. I won't barge in like this again."

"It's too dangerous." There's a deep pain in Cas's eyes: one that Dean knows he won't be able to kiss away. Mrs. Milton had left the door open.

Dean crosses to Cas, puts a hand on his shoulder, and squeezes. They're facing away from the door, but Cas double checks that no one is watching before bringing his hand to Dean's and letting it rest there for a brief second. "You've got my phone number if you need anything. And Cas, I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

Cas nods.

"And I'll see you tomorrow," he adds.

"Tomorrow."

Dean runs into Anna on his way out, but doesn't meet her eyes, and returns her greeting with silence.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Hello, lovely readers! I am SO sorry for the extremely long wait that I've put you through for this chapter! I had five term papers due, so I had to take care of those first, but voila: I wrote you some nice fluffy smut to make up for it. Also, I should be able to write more often during the holiday break, so expect some more chapters soon. Reviews always make my day, and I will send you virtual hugs and cookies in return :3 I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter Ten**

For Dean, tomorrow can't come fast enough. He's still angry about what happened to Cas, and spends most of the day running through the things he's say and do to Gabriel if he got the chance. He avoids conversation with Anna and Bobby at the garage, but all day long he's uncomfortable. Certain thoughts won't leave him alone.

The first is the fact that Castiel is at school again, forced to be around the same assholes who had covered his body in bruises. Dean knows that Sam will step in if anything happens, but he also knows that Cas doesn't have many people on his side. There's an immense pull to be there, to watch over him and make sure that nothing happens. There are several times that Dean puts down the tool he's working with, wraps his hand around his car keys, and thinks about leaving. But he doesn't.

The second is the look that Mrs. Milton had on her face when she opened the door to Cas's bedroom. Dean knows she's probably forgotten all about the incident: about the redness of their faces and the way their hair stuck up at odd angles. But Dean hasn't forgotten that look. It was suspicion and denial all at the same time, like she'd figured out something that she hadn't wanted to figure out. It twists Dean's stomach, and makes sure that his jaw is permanently clenched.

The third discomfort occurs whenever Dean replays the words he said to Cas. He searches through his memories and finds that he can't remember being in a relationship that has lasted more than a month. He would either have moved away before things went too far, or he was dating for the sake of feeling like someone could care about him. But it had never been anything more than that. With Cas, it's different. Dean feels like he's known him for centuries, like he's spent more than one lifetime staring into his eyes. He knows how stupid it is, but he can't shake the feeling that something has clicked itself into place that won't ever come undone. Some of the discomfort comes from fear: the terrifying realization of the _always_ Dean feels like he's falling into. But most of it comes from the fact that even saying he'll never leave Cas's side doesn't encompasses everything he's feeling. It doesn't even come close.

When Dean picks Cas up that night, he drives them directly back to his place and parks the Impala in the garage.

"Are we staying in here?" Cas asks, eyeing the couch.

"No," Dean says. "Let's go to the house."

Sam is inside, packing his lunch bag at the kitchen counter. He looks up when the pair come in. "Hey, Dean. Hey, Castiel," he says, as naturally as if Cas walked into their kitchen every day. Dean's thankful for his brother's lack of judgement, especially with the way he sees Cas's shoulders raise when he realizes they're not alone.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean responds. Castiel still looks uncomfortable, so Dean adds, "I guess you guys have already met."

"Yeah," Sam smiles.

"Thank you for what you did the other day," Cas says solemnly. "You didn't have to."

"I know," Sam says. "But you don't deserve that. I wish I could have done more."

Castiel's hand brushes by Dean's, and their fingers find each other and tangle together. Dean notices the small hint of a smile on Sam's face.

"And hey," he adds, "if you're with my brother, I've got your back."

"Thank you, Sam," Cas says warmly. With a smile and a nod at his brother, Dean leads Cas down the hallway to his bedroom.

His room, unlike Cas's, is slightly chaotic, but steeped in comfort. His bed is a mess of rumpled blankets, and most of his clothes are piled in the armchair under his poster of James Dean. The window next to his bed bleeds the fading light of dusk over the white sheets where he's left the curtains open. Dean takes off his jacket and tosses it in the corner.

"Make yourself comfortable," he tells Cas as he reclines on the bed. Cas makes a show of untucking and unbuttoning his white dress shirt button by button, his eyes teasing Dean's, and throwing it on top of Dean's jacket. He's got a black t-shirt on underneath, which he untucks from his grey pants before joining Dean on the bed.

They lay there for a few moments among the soft sea of blankets, facing each other with their forearms touching, which for some ridiculous reason is enough to make Dean's heart speed up. Cas has a slight, easy smile on his face, and Dean watches the way it makes the skin next to his eyes crinkle. He also notices the yellowing bruise left on the crook of his neck. He reaches out and brushes over it delicately with his fingers, wishing he could erase every ounce of pain that Cas had experienced.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, actually," Cas says quietly. "I'm good. I'm happy. I'm here." He rests one of his hands on Dean's jawbone and moves closer, placing the other one on Dean's hip.

"Good," Dean says, surprised by the emotion in his voice. He realizes that this is the first time in months that he's felt completely at home in his own skin, completely at ease in his home. He drinks in the contours of Castiel's face by the moonlight pouring in the window. "I'm happy too."

He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Cas's, and begins to feel the rest of the world slip away. Cas's parents, Anna, Gabriel, and the boys at his school fade into the background as Dean loses himself in the morning dew scent of Cas's skin.

There are so many things Dean wants to say. He wants to tell Castiel that he doesn't fall for people, ever, not like he's fallen for Cas. He wants to tell him that he'd do anything to get him away from the shit he has to go through in Aldhaven, away from his abusive family and away from the suffocation of all of the expectation. He wants to whisper dreams in his ear, wants to tell him that he'll take him away to anywhere in the world, get them a cozy apartment where Cas can sit on the windowsills and write his heart out, and that Dean would be there, always, when Cas wanted to be in his arms.

He wants to, but he can't find the words.

So instead he pulls Cas closer, winding an arm around his back and snaking his hand up underneath the soft fabric of Cas's t-shirt. Dean glides his fingers over the hills and valleys of Cas's spine, causing Cas to let out a low, breathy laugh and bury his nose in the crook of Dean's neck.

"Tickles?" Dean asks.

"Yeah," Cas mouths into his skin. Dean feels Cas's lips curve into a smile, and next thing he knows Cas is kissing and nipping his way down Dean's neck towards his collarbone. When he throws a leg over Dean's hip, gently hitching their pelvises together, Dean feels himself start to get dizzy with desire.

He raises his hand to Castiel's neck and brings his head level with his own, looking into his blue blown-glass eyes before joining their lips. Dean kisses him deeply and slowly, their tongues exploring each other's mouths and their breathing slow, heavy, and in perfect synch. Dean feels his whole body relax into the movement and realizes that he didn't know he needed this so badly until he'd been without the touch of Cas's lips on his own.

Dean caresses Cas's cheekbone before putting his hand on Cas's leg and pulling it up further, closing the last inch of space between them, and Dean feels sparks going off in his groin at the warmth that exists between them. Cas attaches his lips to Dean's earlobe and rolls his hips slowly, purposely, making the most out of the friction that burns between Dean's jeans and his own pants.

The next time Cas thrusts forward, Dean matches his movement, and they move in an agonizing slowness, feeling the heat build up between them. The feeling of Cas fucking his mouth with his tongue, paired with the rock-hard erections they're both fostering, is driving Dean crazy, but he maintains the rhythm that Cas set, knowing that the other boy will take things further when he's comfortable.

It's not long before Cas rolls onto his back and pulls Dean on top of him, spreading his legs to accommodate the width of Dean's hips between them. Dean's close to losing it, but Cas pushes him back and starts to pull up his shirt, working it up over his head, then doing the same with his own.

"We have time. We have privacy," Cas explains. "We won't always. And while we do, I want to see all of you." The quiet fire in the statement makes Dean's heart throb. He helps Cas undo his belt and shimmy his pants down over his hips, and vice versa, until they're both naked. There is a moment of vulnerability—Dean can see it in Cas's eyes and feel it in his own bones, but he pushes through it.

Some people, he decides, are worth letting in.

He settles himself back between Cas's legs, and uses a mix of saliva and precum to coat their cocks as he strokes them both in tandem. He kisses Cas all the while, not willing to let a moment go by without their lips finding new ways to fit together. He stops only to leave lines of hickeys down Cas's chest and stomach, and finds his destination in Cas's engorged cock. He takes him in his mouth, drinking in the sight of Cas's flushed body splayed against his bedspread, his hands wrapped around the bedposts above his head, his teeth sinking into his lower lip in an effort not to be too loud. Dean, in turn, does his best to break Cas's silence, drawing obscene noises out of him, his hands exploring the rest of his body while his mouth does the dirty work.

After a few moments, he stops. They're both covered in sweat, keening for more, heady with desire. "What do you want, Cas? I'll do anything." Dean's surprised at the admission, but he knows the moment it leaves his mouth that its true. There isn't a single part of him that he wouldn't share with Cas.

All of a sudden, Cas looks shy, nervous, and exposed. Dean notices, and intertwines their fingers, presses the warm skin of their chests together, and looks into Castiel's eyes.

"I—I want you to fuck me…" he stutters, his voice low and thick with want. "But… I don't know if I'm ready for that." He casts his eyes downwards, as if he's afraid to see how Dean will react.

Dean cups his face in his hand. "Hey, that's so okay. You don't have to be ready now. We can wait."

"But," Cas continues, "I was wondering if… maybe you could show me how…?" He worries his lip with his teeth again, but keeps his blue eyes locked on Dean's this time.

Dean can't help it—he leans down and kisses Cas hard before drawing back and whispering, "You wanna fuck me?" Dean feels Cas's dick twitch adamantly between them.

"Yeah," Cas breaths out, bucking his hips against Dean's again. "I want to fuck you." He tries out the words carefully, experimentally, and it's the fucking sexiest thing Dean's ever heard. In two seconds flat he's pulled the lube and a condom out of his bedside table and rearranged himself on his back, letting Cas get comfortable on top of him. He's still extremely hard but he fights the urgency coursing through him, pulling Cas closer to him to kiss him, making sure they both feel safe.

When they're ready, Dean squirts a generous amount of lube onto Cas's fingers and guides him towards his entrance. "Start with one," he says, holding Cas's hand in his own as he circles the rim a couple of times. When Cas pushes in, Dean gasps, feeling his chest shudder and his nerves burst at the long-forgotten sensation.

"Another," he prompts, breathless, and Cas is slow and tender, peppering Dean's body with kisses in between the gentle thrusts he gives with his fingers. "Go deeper," Dean pleads, his hips canting upwards in a desperate need for more contact. Two thrusts later, Cas hits the sweet spot, "Oh, God," Dean cries. "Yeah, Cas, do that again."

Cas builds a steady rhythm that has Dean is such throes of pleasure that he barely notices when Cas adds a third finger. Cas lets his body settle on top of Dean's, keeping his fingers inside of him but bringing their lips together once more, and it's almost more than Dean can take.

"Are you okay? Do you think you're ready?" Cas asks softly.

"_Yes_," Dean pants, sinking down on Cas's fingers. "_Please_, Cas, I need you inside me."

Cas quickly rolls the condom on and dispenses more lube, careful not to leave Dean empty for long. He settles on his knees, and Dean angles his pelvis up to meet him. His pulse is jackhammering through every part of his body as Cas uses one hand to brace himself and the other to grab onto one of Dean's. He's lines himself up and starts to push in slowly.

"Am I hurting you?" he asks. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

"Jesus Cas, please don't stop. More." He pushes himself up, taking in another inch and tearing a ragged gasp out of Cas.

"Dean, you feel so good." Cas buries himself in Dean as far as he can and spreads his other hand on his chest, desperate for more skin. Dean lets the feeling settle for a moment, working through the twinges of pain, until he can't wait any longer.

"Come on, Cas. Fuck me."

Cas takes a moment to lower himself down so his body can be flush against Dean's, so every bit of them is touching, so nothing can come between them. Then he begins moving back and forth, in and out in agonizingly slow thrusts that hit Dean's prostate every time and leave him writhing into the bed. Dean winds his arms around Cas's torso, gripping his back and feeling the muscles working underneath. Every time he moves, Dean sees stars, and he's past keeping quiet. Eventually, perhaps to shut him up, Cas attacks him hungrily with his mouth, kissing him in the rhythm of his whole body.

Dean feels Cas start to tremble as his thrusts become quicker and more erratic, so he guides one of Cas's hands to his own cock and hisses at the fireworks that go off when he begins to stroke it, firmly, in synch with his own thrusts.

"Holy fuck, Cas," Dean groans as everything begins to narrow to a point. "God, harder, _please_." Cas obeys him, hitting him passionately again and again, harder and faster each time.

"Fuck, Dean…" The moment before he comes, Cas threads his free hand through Dean's hair. Dean looks up to find Cas staring at him, his eyes bright and wild, on fire. Dean reaches up to cup Cas's face, gentle through the chaos that rips suddenly through both their bodies, leaving them trembling and panting in the aftermath.

Cas collapses, losing the ability to hold himself up. He rests his head on Dean's chest and listens to the fast beating of his heart as they both gasp for air. Dean drops his hand to rest on Cas's head, playing with his hair as they both catch their breath.

"Wow," Dean says breathlessly. "That was amazing. You sure you haven't done that before?" Dean jokes. Cas chuckles warmly, and the sound reverberates through both of their bodies.

"God, Cas, I love you."

He doesn't exactly mean to say it, but it's been running through his mind all day. Nevertheless, he feels tension enter Cas's frame again, and is terrified he's said the wrong thing, or too much, and ruined everything.

Cas rolls over onto his side, pulling out of Dean and breaking the contact between them. His eyes, Dean notices with a pang, are filled with unshed tears.

"You love me?" he asks, his voice breaking.

Though Dean's afraid of sending him running, he knows he can't turn back now. And he knows that this feels right. He reaches out, laces his fingers through Cas's.

"Yes, I love you, Cas. I fucking love you." Cas closes his eyes and sends a few of the tears cascading down his cheeks. But Dean keeps going. "I'm sorry if that scares you, and I understand if you're not ready. It's just that… I don't know, I'm just _really _sure. I've never felt this sure about anything, and—"

Dean is cut off suddenly by the soft touch of Cas's lips on his own, a sweeter kiss than Dean can remember ever having. "No, it's not that…" Cas says, his voice thick with emotion. "I just… I never thought this would happen to me. I guess it's stupid, I just… You make me feel safe, Dean. You make me feel loved. And no one has ever done that before." Cas buries his head against Dean's chest, and Dean wraps him in his arms. "I love you, too."

They stay wrapped up in each other for hours, listening to the crickets outside the window and the comforting sound of each other's breathing until, devastatingly, Dean has to drive Castiel home.


End file.
